


Halloween:  Fate

by CHRISSYR



Category: Halloween - Fandom, Michael Myers - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24638257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CHRISSYR/pseuds/CHRISSYR
Summary: We all know what Michael Myers does on Halloween, but what about the months prior?Doctor Samantha Loomis is traveling to Smiths Grove Sanitarium to attend a lecture given by a world famous psychiatrist .  She plans to have nothing to do with Michael Myers but fate has other plans.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	Halloween:  Fate

**Author's Note:**

> A cat will stalk it’s prey for ages then pounce and kill it is seconds. Then it will jump in your lap looking for belly rubs. To stalk and kill is in it’s nature. Do we blame a cat for behaving like a cat?

Halloween: Fate

Prologue

She supposed it was always meant to be like this. 

Her life forever linked with the most psychotic human being to ever walk the Earth. 

Sure Ted Bundy, Ed Gein, Charles Manson were all irrefutable proof that evil can take the form of a man...or woman. Jeffry Dahmer ate parts of his victims. Susan Smith strapped her babies into a car and watched it roll into the water. But Michael Myers was on a completely different level. He was in the stratosphere. No one, NO-ONE came close. She supposed she understood why his doctor became obsessed with him. At first, he tried to help the beautiful little towheaded boy with the crystal blue eyes and the blank expression. Then he simply wanted to contain him. Make certain he was never unleashed upon the world again. When Michael did manage to escape, and he escaped more than once; a dedicated physician, a man who took an oath to first do no harm, shot, stabbed, and set fire to his patient. Each time, Michael miraculously survived, only to wreak havoc and feed his blood lust again and again. Her life, whatever kind of life it is, will forever be linked to Michael Myers. Her name is Samantha Loomis. The only child of Doctor Samuel Loomis. She is a practitioner in the field of psychiatry and specializes in treating the most violent, criminally insane, human dangers to society. In the fifteen years since she completed her residency, she has had few successes. However, it must be stated that her handful of victories are all the more gratifying for their scarcity. 

A woman who murdered her parents, proceeded to cut them up and fed the pieces to the family dog, is currently serving life in prison with no hope of parole. But...for the past five years she has been ministering to fellow inmates and sees the doctor once a month. 

A man with a penchant for raping and disfiguring women over 50 also serves a life sentence and is currently helping to train service dogs. Together, she and he were able to get to the very root of his problems and although he can never be trusted not to turn again, like all terribly abused animals, he maintains a peaceful existence in jail. There are four others that will never see the light of day as free persons, but Doctor Sammie (as they called her) has played a role in their journey to a semblance of mental wellbeing. 

She has a way with the twisted and broken. It is as if she feels their suffering and can reach their broken minds, showing them the possibilities for a better life. If they only let her in. Only a small few are able to do so and now are better for it. Samantha felt she was better for it as well.

Yet, in all her years of practice, she had never gone near Michael Myers. Never ventured near the doors of Smith’s Grove Sanitarium, where he always seemed to end up after his rampages. She had done her level best to push him from her mind completely. Why should she bother? He remains completely unreachable. He pushed her father to the brink of madness. Robbed him of obtaining any happiness and stripped him of dignity. Her father had died a broken man, shortly after a final face off with Michael. Within days of his recapture, Sam Loomis passed away. The head of Smith’s Grove sent her notification that Michael had howled like an animal and threw a fit in his cell the day her father died, even though he had no way of knowing about it. They wondered what she made of it. She crumbled the letter up and threw it away without bothering to respond. She didn’t know what to make of it and she honestly didn’t care. Her father died hours after suffering a stroke, mumbling Michael’s name, not hers, as she held his hand. Doctor Samuel Loomis took his grief of failure with him to his grave. No way was she going down that path.  
No.

Part I

Girl Meet Boy  
June. 

Smith’s Grove Sanitarium

The sunlight cascades through the lone barred window in the almost bare room. There is a toilet in one corner and three different shelves in the room that serve different purposes. 

The first is his table and is just long and wide enough for a place setting for a man to eat. The second juts out of the wall like the first and is next to it. Just low and close enough to be a place to sit when he is using the table. It’s not terribly uncomfortable but it is nowhere near luxury. The third is padded, barely large enough for him to lie on comfortably but it does fit his large frame. At high noon, the sunlight reaches the shelf that serves as a chair as well as the man sitting on it. The warm, golden rays envelope him and it feels good. It appears as if God’s own light surrounds him. But God will have nothing to do with the man sitting there. 

There is nothing else in the room. Nothing that can be picked up, broken, or shattered. Nothing that can be weaponized. The staff have learned their lesson well over the years. This cell is customized for him. It is ten by ten. Just a bit larger than the usual eight by ten spaces given the other residents. But he is different, and they wanted more room in his cell to make him more comfortable. Also to allow a little more space between him and anyone who might need to go in there and deal with him. 

He is basking in the sunlight, heavy eyelids half closed. He had been beautiful to look at as a child. He was still quite handsome despite the scars his body bore. He has sandy, brown hair. The type an adult has when they had been golden-haired as a child. He has long lashes that give his deep blue eyes an almost pretty appearance. His face is burned in some places as is his left hand. He has no way of knowing what he looks like, for he is not afforded a mirror. A mirror can be broken and the glass used as a blade. Not a single opportunity is made available.

Most of the year, he does not care. He is content to sit or stand or kneel. Sometimes facing the wall. Other times, he likes to face the door. That always unnerves whoever deigns to walk through it. They will stop short, sometimes catch their breath and quickly avert their eyes. As if looking into his will strike them dead or turn them to stone or some other horrible fate befall them. The reaction makes him smile. Of course, he only smiles inside. His face usually remains an expressionless mask.  
“They think I am some “Thing” with nothing inside...so wrong they are...so wrong”.  
He thinks to himself. He does have coherent thoughts most of the year. He has no trouble thinking most of the time. For 48 weeks out of the year, everything is ...well. He could not call it quiet, but it is not chaos either. Then, the Halloween season rolls around, and all Hell breaks loose in his head. He has no idea why.

It started when he was six years old. The voices in his head whispering terrible things...demanding he do terrible things. They escalated from a whisper to a shout then finally, constant screaming! The blood pounding in his head like someone beating a drum inside his skull while the screaming continued. The headaches that resulted were agonizing. When he was six, they had terrified him. Now he took them as they came. This was his fate and he accepted it.

He had been enjoying himself that Halloween day. Cake and candy and soda at school. Dancing to Monster Mash and Purple People Eater with Katie Simms, the little dark haired girl he had a crush on all year. He stole a kiss on her cheek and got scolded by the teacher for it. He thought life could not get any better. He was right. Seven hours later his life, as he knew it, was over. Judith, his older sister, was dead by his hand. 24 hours later, his parents' lives were shattered as their daughter lay in the morgue and their little boy was being held in a cell at the police station. Fifteen years later, he would come home to shred the lives of everyone in Haddonfield.

He felt no sorrow for any of them. If anything, they should feel sorry for him! They did not have to deal with the voices that called to him. They did not have to perform the work he had to do to silence the voices! They were not locked up like a caged animal for decades. Most of all, and the worst for him, they did not have to live with the terrible thing dwelling in his mind. When that thing showed itself, sometimes, even Michael Myers was afraid. Moreover, he did not understand the logic of it. He was only a threat a few days out of a year. The rest of the time, he was content to remain silent and alone in a little room somewhere. Occasionally he would sit humming...a soft, tuneless way to occupy his brain and think about random things. The color of the walls, the crack in the ceiling, why dogs barked when they inhaled, and humans speak when they exhale.

Humans. 

He cannot abide humans. He accepts he is one of the millions of two-legged, furless beasts that corrupt the Earth. Again, not his fault. He did not create himself. God helped his parents do that. Yes, he believed in God. No, he did not care what God thought of him. He never wondered why an omnipotent God did not stop him or the thing within him. If he were God, he would have struck that thing down the moment it showed itself. The idea of free-choice was bullshit. He never had a choice. Anyway, God didn’t bother to stop wars, famine or mass shootings. Why would God interfere with him?

He believed in the Devil as well and he held the Devil in low regard. When was the last time the Devil appeared and struck fear into the hearts of an entire town? All within a few hours! No. The Devil was worthy of little esteem as far as Michael was concerned. Not particularly good at his job. And if it was the Devil that put the voices in his head and created the thing within him; that meant the Devil needed help to carry out his work. Michael didn’t need help to do his work. The Devil...heh.

His work annoyed him. Firstly, he did not like blood on his hands-Literally! It was sticky and smelled awful. Secondly, it required contact with humans, and he hated that. He hated to be touched. He hated to touch. He could live the rest of his life without ever having human contact again and he would be glad for it. Thirdly, the noises they made when they struggled grated on his nerves, something fierce. He was fairly certain everyone who knew of him thought he enjoyed his work. He did not. Nothing would please him more to be left alone and in peace. This was a luxury that would never be afforded him. He shrugged it off with silent resignation. Quite simply, it was not easy being Michael Myers.

June.   
Saint Raphael’s School of Medicine 

The lecture had gone well. Ninety students had shown up and it seemed like most were paying rapt attention as Samantha spoke. When the last student had left the room, she gathered up her papers and books, placing them in her briefcase. She had some time before the next class and so decided to head over to the faculty office to check her messages, pick up her mail and take care of anything else that might need attention. Her heels clicked rhythmically as she walked down the hall. She always liked the sound of heels meeting marble floors, it sounds authoritative. She reached the office and strolled in, nodding at various staff as she passed until she reached the main desk.  
“Good afternoon, Doctor Loomis”  
“Good afternoon, Sylvia. How are you?  
“I’m fine and you?”  
“Good, good.”

Sylvia was sweet and efficient and had reached and passed the peak of her career as a secretary at the moderately prestigious school. Sylvia was a good wife, mother, and administrative assistant. This was her fate. She’d settled into it happily with her sensible shoes and an ever-present sweater draped over her shoulders. Sylvia was a throwback to a time when women joined steno pools until they married men named “Ward” or “Burt” and had freckle-faced sons who chased frogs and carried slingshots in their back pockets. Their daughters wore dresses and black Mary-Janes and dreamed of growing up and joining a steno-pool until they married a Ward of their own. Samantha knew that Sylvia was a bit disappointed in the cards life dealt her. Her son had gone off to pursue a career as a comic-book artist and her daughter wanted to be the lead singer in a progressive rock band. Sylvia presses on every day and makes the most of her life. But she’d resigned herself to the fact that her best days were gone, and she was never getting them back.

As the two women exchanged pleasantries, Sylvia handed her a pile of papers and envelopes at least five inches thick. Samantha eyed them, then sighed.  
“Thanks Sylvia, I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.” The smile was returned. Doctor Loomis turned around and headed back down the hall. 

Once inside the sanctity of her 8 X 8 home away from home, she closed the door and sighed again. She looked at the pile in her hand.   
‘How many trees died to bring me this abundance of junk mail?’   
She questioned no one out loud and tossed the papers into the desk, which caused them to fan out just a bit. As she glanced down, she saw a return address that caused her to freeze in place. 

Smith’s Grove Sanitarium  
Warren County Mental Health Services  
Smith’s Grove IL 60243

For a moment she could not bring herself to touch the piece of mail. She reached for it, but her hand trembled. She swallowed hard.   
‘Enough of your nonsense, Sammie.’ She chided herself. ‘It’s probably a beg letter. ‘  
She tore open the envelope. It was not a plea for donations, it was an invitation.

Doctor Paul Breslin was one of the most renowned practitioners in the treatment and study of criminal psychology in the world. He lectured in some of the most prestigious halls of learning and medicine internationally. Why he was giving a talk and heading a symposium at Little Smith’s Grove Sanitarium would likely be a mystery to most folks but not to Samantha. Smith’s Grove had one claim to fame as far as residents go but it was the mother load! Clearly, Doctor Breslin was going to grace Smith’s Grove with his presence in order to gain access to Michael Myers. He wouldn’t be the first renowned physician to want to get a look at Michael and his medical records. Including her father’s notes on file. They were available to these scholars, usually for a price. There was also her father’s bestselling novel, now in its third printing. All that information was readily available. But one of the worst kept secrets in the psychiatric community was that Doctor Samuel Loomis had kept volumes of personal notes and journals. Samantha kept those locked away in a safe. They were private and she was determined they would remain so. It was likely Doctor Breslin had requested they send an invitation to the person in sole possession of Doctor Samuel Loomis’s notes and journals pertaining to Myers. The symposium was taking place in one month and certainly many esteemed medical professionals would attend. She had plenty of notice to get time off. She had no shortage of vacation days. Dare she miss out on such an opportunity? Even if she HAD been invited simply because of who her father was...and who daddy’s star patient was, she could not refuse this chance. Dr. Breslin’s events were invitation only. Who doesn’t take advantage of name recognition when they can? Besides, she didn’t have to go near HIM. She could avoid him, avoid his cell. Hell, she'd avoid that entire wing! She wasn’t going to give him any sort of power over her. Including preventing her from advancing in her field. If Doctor Breslin tried to discuss Michael or her Father, she would politely change the subject or feign ignorance. It's not like she had enjoyed a close relationship with her father. He had attended her graduations from High School, College and Medical School and they traded phone calls on holidays and birthdays. They mourned the loss of her mother together, even though her parents divorced long before she passed. Her father took full responsibility for the disintegration of his marriage. He never missed an alimony or child support payment. When he passed, he left Samantha a small fortune. She would attend this symposium despite the obvious reason for her being invited. She’d get the time off and make her travel arrangements. She would prepare well for the first, and last time she would ever set foot in Smith’s Grove Sanitarium.

July.   
Smith’s Grove Sanitarium

Something was going on and it was getting on his nerves. To be quite honest, nothing of any importance occurred here unless he orchestrated it. He liked it that way. All a man really wants is a peaceful home life, especially when work is so chaotic! But everyone was in quite a lather and it was stirring things up in his head. When they brought him his breakfast, he was tapping his left foot on the floor as he sat. Lunch found him standing and rocking slightly and by dinner, he was pacing. The orderly could not flee the room quick enough. At eight pm a doctor came by to check on him. There was great concern over the usually docile Michael being so agitated. Especially since Halloween was three months away. All the activity around the hospital had quieted down for the day and so Michael did as well. Still the doctor injected him with enough sedative to take down a cow. Michael chose to let it take him and he slept right through breakfast the following morning.

During what THEY referred to as his ‘dormant period’. Michael was loath to miss a meal. It threw his whole day off! Breakfast was at 8, lunch at 12, snack at 4 and dinner at 6. He never took an evening snack at 9. Lights out was at 10. That was his routine. He showered every other day. Transporting him to the showers was quite an event. Usually, he gave them no trouble. Every now and again, he would refuse to budge once he stripped and stepped under the spray. That sent his attendants into a spin. One poor new guy swore that as he approached Michael slowly to wash his hair, Myers said “boo” in a deep, low, and gravelly voice that was positively demonic. But Michael never spoke to anyone, why would he speak to him? No one believed the guy and he quit a month later. Michael heard he had moved out of state. Michael heard lots of things and he paid attention to it all.

That is one mistake so many people made when dealing with selective mutes as well as mutes in general. After a while, people forget those that do not speak sometimes hear perfectly well. Perhaps these careless folks fall into a routine and even forget of the presence in the room with them. They speak freely. Michael was eating lunch, spooning food into his mouth because a spoon was the only utensil he was given. What is more, the spoon was made of cardboard. Nothing that can ever be weaponized. It barely holds together long enough for him to finish his meal. Eleven minutes exactly, then the spoon would begin to soften and disintegrate. He had just taken a bite when the two orderlies came in to change his bedding. Michael did not bother to glance their way. There was a flurry of activity again today and Michael wanted to know what was going on. He wanted information badly. Perhaps, if he could find out what was happening, he could arrange something else to make them stop planning whatever it was they were planning, and things could get back to normal. He figured they were planning something because they were cleaning and fixing everything. Whenever they went to these lengths, he could be sure something was happening. He needed to know what. He chewed slowly, looking at his plate and just being invisible. They assessed him nervously as most who enter his room do. When they were certain he was too involved with his meal to notice them, they made their way to his bed. Never taking their eyes from him. In response, he ate and drank and acted as if they did not exist. Eventually, they let their guard down and set about their work. It was not long before they began speaking among themselves. Obviously, they were continuing a conversation that started somewhere else.  
“...so yeah, there’s gonna be plenty of OT the next week getting ready for that big shot doc and all the other docs coming to listen to him talk.”  
“Man, I for one, am happy for that. With a third baby on the way, I need the Benjamins”  
They finished with his bed and left. So that is what was happening. They were hosting some sort of lecture series or something. Lots of strangers in and out. Would they parade him out for the visitors to see? He hoped not. He did not need overtime. 

July.  
Smith’s Grove, IL

Samantha’s plane landed on Wednesday and shockingly, was on time. She had no trouble picking up her rental car and was soon on her way to Smith’s Grove. She completely ignored the exit to Haddonfield and drove another 150 miles to her destination. She checked into the small roadside hotel and indulged in a long, hot shower. Now that she was less than 24 hours away from walking through the doors of Smith’s Grove Sanitarium, she had to admit she was nervous. She highly doubted anyone who still worked there would remember her father as a colleague, but they would certainly all know her name. She pushed the thought from her head. She was a professional about to attend a seminar that would be advantageous to her career. The fact that it was held at that particular location was unfortunate, but it was a fact that could not be helped. The hot water was plentiful. As it flowed over her body, it seemed to wash some of the tension and apprehension away.

Afterwards, she dried off and wrapped her hair in a towel. She looked at herself in the mirror. She was what one might call a handsome woman. Standing five feet five inches tall with brown wavy hair that ended just above her shoulders. She was decently proportioned. Breasts on the smaller side, yet not what you would call flat chested. She carried about twenty pounds too many, but the extra weight was evenly distributed among her stomach, hips, thighs, and waist. Her face favored her father’s. Round in shape with brown eyes a bit too close together, thin lips and pale skin which she got from her mother. She could not be called beautiful, but she was not ugly. She was handsome.

She finished surveying herself in the mirror. Slipped into her robe, made her way to the table where she had set down her purse and briefcase. Picked up the latter, carrying it to the bed. She opened it and sat on the bed cross legged balancing it on her lap. 

She checked the digital recorder to make sure that was working properly and then tested six pens to be certain they all wrote well. Notebook, check. Invitation, just in case her name was not on the list, (fat chance) check. Her eyes fell upon a worn, leather bound book. She pressed her fingertips to it and closed her eyes for just a moment. She picked the book up and gently opened it, careful to preserve the binding.   
Scribbled handwriting, so familiar to her because she had looked at this page thousands of times and never went beyond.

November 15, 1963.  
...I am about to meet the young boy for the first time. They tell me he is an attractive boy, above average looks.... repeats the same story about the night it happened. Otherwise docile and cooperative. Upon meeting him, they tell me it will be difficult to believe this sweet looking child took a butcher’s knife…

She closed the book and eyes at the same time. That is as far as she had ever gotten to, reading her father’s journal. No more. No more. She put it away and closed the briefcase. Time to get dressed and get a late lunch/early dinner. Big day tomorrow!

Smith’s Grove Sanitarium Thursday 

7AM: He is up and there is a certain electricity in the air usually reserved for a bit later in the year. Even the years he remains docile, there is a certain excitement that isn’t pleasant. More like the type that sets your teeth on edge. But it was July, not October. What’s more, he hadn’t done anything. Which only meant one thing. The special visitor was coming today. That HAD to be it. Well if they knew what was best for everyone, they would leave him out of it. He had never killed anyone outside of the month of October. That might change and if it did, it would be their fault. 

8AM: Breakfast was on time. So far, so good. He ate as he usually did. Ten minutes to empty his plate (paper) and his cup (paper) which had orange juice. He absolutely refused to drink water if he could help it. They also stopped sending yogurt. Yogurt, pudding, cheesecake, anything with that texture was vile. It was his opinion that the human race deserved to meet extinction just for the invention of those three abominations alone. He sat with his back to the wall and watched the orderly clear the table. “I’ll be right back to get you Michael. You need to get cleaned up. Gonna wash your hair and everything, Ok?” Asked like a question but it was not. He was being told what was in store for him. Today was not the day to shower. He had done that yesterday and in the evening. Boundaries better be reset quickly. He responded by leaning forward then slamming the back of his head into the wall. He felt nothing, the orderly felt nervous—his eyes went big and round.  
“Michael, behave yourself! You are having guests later and one of them is a lady doctor. Don’t you wanna look nice for the lady who will come call in’ on you?”  
Ahhh, now this...THIS was information that was important. So, they had people coming to see him, did they? His hands curled into fists and for the briefest of instants he felt like crushing the orderly’s head with those hands. Or his windpipe. But that would not do. He was curious now. And if he acted up, they would put him in solitary and he’d never know who dared to be so interested in him that they would want to meet him. Also, if he killed the orderly, they’d just send another and he’d still have to shower, so the point would be moot. He lowered his head and played the obedient patient. This was a game Michael excelled at. The orderly was satisfied that Michael had composed himself and so he left and came back.... with a second orderly that looked as if he wrestled bears in his spare time. Just in case he’d read Michael wrong, but he gave them no trouble. 

8:50 am: Samantha had been sitting in her car for the past half an hour willing herself to get out and walk towards those doors. She had ten minutes before the lecture started. ‘It’s now or never, Sammie.’ She encouraged herself and drew in a deep breath, holding it for five seconds before releasing it. She pushed open the door and slammed it harder than needed. Each step she took became more determined. By the time she reached the entrance, she almost felt like herself. Only the slightest hint of trepidation remained. She presented her ID to the guard and he smiled and nodded   
“Welcome to Smith’s Grove, Doctor Loomis”.   
She smiled in return. More at the irony of the words than in the greeting.  
“Thank you”  
She walked past him feeling even more confident.

12 pm: Lunch was on time. Things were still proceeding as they should. But he was tense, and his attendant noticed it and made note of it on his chart. There was still something in the air that was bothering him. He had taken his shower without incident. Went back to his room and settled back down as best he could. He could not wait for this day to end. 

3 pm: The lecture was excellent, one of the best Samantha had ever attended. Dr. Breslin was truly at the top of the field. They had broken for lunch at one and Dr. Breslin made a point to seek Samantha out. He’d asked to speak with her after today’s talk and she agreed. They met in the hospital cafeteria, ordered coffee with biscotti, and chose a table off to the side. It was off hours so the place was fairly empty.   
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Dr Loomis. I admired your father’s work very much.”  
“Please, call me Samantha, Dr. Breslin and the honor is mine, believe me.”  
She bit back the desire to add  
‘As far as my father’s work is concerned, I’m glad one of us admired it’  
She didn’t say that-No need to start off negative   
“Only if you agree to call me Paul.”  
She smiled at him.  
“Deal.”  
“Well then Samantha, what did you think of my take on the motivations of serial killers?”  
“Dr. Bres-Paul. I have to say, I thought it was a very fresh look at a rather old topic.”  
“I am pleased you feel that way. I read your thesis and I thought it was brilliant.”  
Samantha could not help but blush at such a high compliment.   
“Samantha, let me be candid with you. I am hoping to look over your father’s personal notes on the Myers case.”  
She was knocked off her cloud as if Michael himself had backhanded her. Not that this was unexpected. She knew why he chose such an out of the way place to give his lecture. She knew why she’d received an invitation. But the truth still stung.  
“No”  
She thought her voice sounded pretty weak  
“I thought you might say no, Samantha but please hear me out. You yourself said I have a fresh approach and you have ideas for treatment no one has tried. Imagine if we could unlock the secret behind Michael Myers. We would be world famous. Maybe even Nobel Prize contenders. Think about it, please. Think of the lives we may save.”  
Shit! Shit shit shit shit shit shit! Her resolve was breaking already. The thought of collaborating with Dr. Paul Breslin was so very tempting! Who better to work on such a unique case with him than the only child of the doctor who had dedicated his entire career trying to reach the unreachable? It was not like she had become consumed like her father had. She knew better. Besides, she would be working with a partner, her father never once considered trying that. On the other hand, she had sworn...sworn she would never get involved with Michael Myers. Was she actually going to change her mind because the thought of fame and fortune had been dangled before her like a carrot? She was terribly confused. Doctor Breslin recognized her distress.   
“No need to answer now. I’m going to stay for a while. I’ve been granted privileges at Smith’s Grove. Michael is going to be a study case of mine for a while. I would be so grateful if you were to come on board and seek some answers with me.”  
“Thank you for the coffee, Doctor Breslin. I’ll certainly consider your proposal.”   
She stood up and he stood up with her. They shook hands and she headed for the door moving as quickly as she could without looking as if she were running.   
Her head spun as she walked through the corridors. Being unfamiliar with the place, she made several wrong turns before she bumped into Paul Breslin again. He was walking with Doctor Andrew Meeks, the Institute Director.  
“Good afternoon, Doctor Loomis”   
Meeks said with a smile and Samantha could not tell if that smile was genuine.  
“Nice to see you again so soon, Doctor Loomis”  
Paul said, and his smile was very real.  
“Hello Gentlemen. Doctor Meeks, I seem to be lost.”  
“Well, I am taking Doctor Breslin on a tour of the hospital. Walk with us and we will get you to the elevator.”  
“Perhaps Dr. Loomis would like to join us. I understand this is her first time here as well.”  
Dr. Breslin sounded hopeful. It took just a moment for Dr. Meeks to nod  
“I don’t see why not. Doctor Loomis?”  
She took a deep breath. There was, no doubt in her mind they’d be going to the maximum-security level. That was the only ward Dr. Breslin was interested in. He was taking a tour of the entire hospital to be polite. What was the harm, really? She was being a little silly. Perhaps laying eyes on Michael would help her make up her mind on working with Breslin one way or the other. Perhaps it would help her understand her father better. Perhaps at least some of her questions would finally be answered.  
“Thank you, Doctor Meeks, It would be a privilege to join you both.”

5 pm Maximum Security Ward   
Smith’s Grove Sanitarium:

The last stop on an otherwise uneventful tour of a facility that was remarkably similar to most others of its kind. She barely paid attention as Doctor Meeks walked them through the halls, speaking of the alarm systems and failsafes. Samantha was too busy steeling herself for what was to come to pay attention to Meeks' prattling and crowing or to Breslin’s polite responses.

Finally, they stopped at the last door on the right of the hall. Breslin licked his lips as Meeks spoke into his radio. A few minutes later, four burly guards barreled down the hall, two of them were holding tranquilizer guns.

He heard the movement in the halls. The footsteps of three people. Two heavier, they were men and one lighter, a female. Then he heard the other four. Security guards. All members of law enforcement sounded the same when they walked. He was still agitated, but he knew he had to be careful not to show that agitation. He needed to assess the situation. He bit his tongue until he tasted blood so he could remain focused on his behavior and settled down. It was close to supper time. 

Samantha held her breath when they opened the door. The security guards entered first, the two with the tranquilizer guns poised and ready. The other two stayed close to Meeks, Breslin and Samantha, the three doctors in between the two guards. The door shut behind the group as soon as they were inside. Meeks was speaking, then Breslin was speaking but she heard nothing they said. Her eyes settled instantly upon the man seated on the small bench protruding from the wall. His gaze, in turn, fell on her, almost lazily. First, to her name tag. He narrowed his eyes as he stared at the badge. Not because he had any trouble reading it; his eyesight was excellent, despite an injury suffered decades ago. But the name captured his attention. Doctor Samantha Loomis. For a moment, he felt absolutely nothing. Then, every voice in his head whispered it individually, some almost reverently and others with contempt. He stood up and his eyes met and held hers for what seemed to be hours. 

Did his eyes just go from blue to black and back to blue again? Were her own eyes playing tricks? She forced her eyes to squeeze close and then open again. His eyes were blue, and he was still staring at her. 

He could not believe his eyes, but they did not deceive him. Her name was Loomis. She was a doctor and no other doctors saw him except those that dealt with the mind. But Sam Loomis has been dead for years and she never came around before. Why now? For an instant, he felt unnerved, but that passed. He thought he should take a step towards her, but he thought again and decided against it. All at once the voices started raging. He inhaled, filling his lungs to capacity, and concentrated on his fury. He held his breath for ten seconds then expelled it. The majority of his anger with it…when he locked eyes with her again, he was fairly calm…another few seconds and he was almost serene.

She felt lightheaded and hot like she was burning up. Rage filled her. Overtaking all reason. She thought she must be shaking all over and then all at once it stopped and she felt completely normal. Meeks and Breslin were both talking to her. She remembered how to speak again.  
“Doctor Loomis, Doctor Loomis are you Ok?”  
Meeks asked, touching her shoulder lightly. Breslin had a look of genuine concern on his face.   
“I’m fine really. Just the trip, long day. Probably low blood sugar.”   
Meeks frowned; he didn’t look convinced.  
Breslin offered “I think we should leave Michael to his own designs for now. He’s not accustomed to so many visitors at once.”  
Paul said and Samantha managed a thin smile.   
“Yes, Doctor Breslin, I think you’re right” Doctor Meeks concurred.

They filed out of the room, but Samantha knew Michael was staring at her, his gaze never wavering. She barely fought off the urge to turn around and look back. Immense relief overtook her once that door was secured behind them and even better when she was out in the fresh air of the parking lot. All three Doctors had decided to go to dinner and Samantha insisted she felt well enough to drive the three miles to The Rabbit In Red Lounge. Once there Samantha planned to order the strongest drink on the menu.

Michael continued to stare at the door after they left. The others were insignificant. She was all that mattered to him. Thoughts he hadn’t had in years flooded back but they were jumbled, and he couldn’t make sense of any of them. He shook his head to clear it. Slowly he sat back down. He felt everything fading off into the distance. Even the voices were dying down. 

They brought his dinner and took it away untouched an hour later.   
At 10 pm two orderlies came and put him to bed. They turned out his lights and locked him up for the night. He realized none of this as he was comatose. This was one of his two coping methods when he was surprised. The other usually results in lots of bloodshed.

The hot water made her skin red and was uncomfortable, but the mild discomfort was far more welcome than the crawling under her skin that she had endured all through dinner up until she fell asleep last night. She had fully intended to do this as soon as she got back to the hotel, but the moment she unlocked the door, she felt a wave of extreme exhaustion wash over her. Suddenly, all she was capable of was stripping down to her underwear and dropping onto the bed. She fell asleep instantly and slept like the dead all night. 7 am found her wide awake and feeling filthy. 

For nearly an hour, she scrubbed and rinsed and repeated the process and only when the hot water ran out, did she close the tap and step dripping onto the paper mat. She grabbed a towel and began the process of drying herself off. Once that was done, she wrapped her hair and proceeded to dress for the day. It was Friday and she had intended to simply go home but now she had changed her mind. A quick call to the front desk had secured her room for at least a week, with the option to extend her stay if she wanted. Apparently, there was not a ‘tourist season” out here. The only folks who used this hotel were hunters and the occasional Smith’s Grove visitor. Turned out the owner recognized her last name. Apparently, her dad had stayed here a few times as a long-term resident as well. She hung up the phone.   
‘Like father like daughter.’  
She thought to herself with a wry smile.   
‘Now more than ever.’  
She shook her head. Sometime between first sight of Michael and her conversation with the proprietor, she had made up her mind. She would accept the offer to work with Doctor Breslin on the Myers case. One exchange of looks with Michael and she understood how her father became so drawn in. Looking into his eyes was looking into a great, churning ocean, made violent from a terrible and raging storm. An ocean that would smash you to bits if you were not extremely careful and if you dared to show it any less than the absolute respect its power deserved. And fear. This ocean wanted your fear.

PART II 

A SILENT PARTNER

He came to awareness slowly to find someone had applied a catheter. He hated those and he was on a bed pan which, to his relief, was empty. He did not blame the attendants for this. He had been out for a while and he did not like the thought of laying in his own waste. But the bed pan had to go. He threw it against the wall, and it clattered to the floor. That brought them running! He stared at the medic the entire time he removed that catheter and he could tell the man was nervous. But he was good at his job and finished his work efficiently. He would go on the list. Michael kept two lists in his head. One of those to be spared and one of those that would not. This medic went on the spared list, which was a very short list. The other seemed endless. 

The fact was, if he did not like you, you did not last long here. That did not necessarily mean you ended up a corpse either. For instance, there was a new orderly that arrived a few months ago and Michael did not care for him. So, the first time the man took Michael for his shower, he called for security and insisted Michael had said “boo”. But Michael never spoke, why would he do so now? No one believed that new orderly. A month later, he quit. Michael heard he had moved out of state. Michael heard lots of things.

He thought of Dr. Samantha Loomis. She was a healer. He saw that in her eyes. Her father had been a good doctor, until he lost focus and then his mind. Dr. Sam Loomis forgot what his calling was, towards the end. That is why he died unhappy. Had he kept his focus, he would have been proud of his life’s work and passed away a happy man.

This new Doctor Loomis might be better than her predecessor. If she could keep her attention where it needed to be, and where it needed to be was on him. He needed few people in his life and even fewer needed to be kept alive for very long. But he did have use for a doctor that would protect him and treat him when he needed it… and follow him. Having someone following him made his work more interesting. He was sure he brought a certain amount of excitement to the otherwise mundane life of a head doctor. After all, he was the absolute best at his craft. He was brilliant with an extremely complex mind. The ultimate challenge. 100s of doctors gained access to him each year, far more were denied. Only the cream of the crop were granted audience with Michael Myers. In all this time, he had never wanted another doctor. She should be honored he chose her. He just needed to make sure she stayed.

A day wandering around town was enough to change her mind back to leaving. Thank whatever powers were out there in the universe that saw she didn’t make any statements over dinner that would be awkward to walk back. She went to Smith’s Grove Saturday because she was certain both men she needed to see would be there. Doctor Breslin would be moving his things into his office and Doctor Meeks would be there to make sure things went smoothly. She found both men in Breslin’s new office. Of course, they were ‘delighted’ to see her. Meeks offered her coffee which she accepted. When his assistant brought three cups, she took a large sip from hers, then spoke  
“I’ve made a decision on your generous offers. Both to work with you, Doctor Breslin and to join the staff here, Doctor Meeks...”  
She would have continued speaking, had an alarm not sounded followed by Meeks picking up the phone, listening a moment then, slamming it down.  
“Myers!”  
He said and rushed out the door. Breslin and Loomis exchanged quick looks before following him.

Michael had heard a nurse say that a Doctor Loomis had signed in at the front security desk. He decided it was time for a display. 

They were looking at a security monitor that showed his cell. Michael was tearing up his bedding having already torn his clothes almost completely off. 

Breslin and Meeks went into his cell and came right back out when he abruptly stopped what he was doing and set his fury-laden eyes on them. He looked like a bull ready to charge. When they came back to the desk, Samantha was peering at the activity displayed with great interest. She took a moment before she spoke…  
“Let me go in.”  
She said softly. Meeks protested but she held up her hand to stop him from speaking further.   
“He can’t be my patient if I’m not allowed to treat him my way.”  
Breslin spoke up, “I hate to say this, but she may be able to get somewhere with him where we can’t.”   
Meeks did not look convinced, but he nodded his permission. She pressed a button that allowed her to speak into his cell.  
“Mr. Myers. Sir. This is Doctor Loomis…Samantha if you prefer. I’m coming in there now and I need you to please…calm down.”  
He stopped and looked at the speaker. Then the door opened, and she walked in. The door closed behind her and she stood face to face, alone with Michael Myers. He rotated his head slowly from the speaker that her voice had just played from to level his gaze on her. His chest rose and fell in time with his steady, even breathing and she fought her damndest to keep hers in check as well but deep down she knew he felt her apprehension. Like all predators, he sensed her fear.

Good Lord, he was big! Now that she was in the room with him, she realized just how powerful he was. She looked up at him and keeping her cool despite the turmoil inside she spoke.  
“May I call you, Michael?”  
‘KILL HER!!’   
A voice in his head raged. And the others joined in but he managed to silence them. Instead, he simply glared at her while she looked steadily back at him. The standoff lasted maybe a minute and then he turned abruptly and faced the wall.   
He knelt down.   
‘YOU BROKE FIRST!!! Predators never break first!!!!’  
The voice was angry in its accusation against him, but another, calmer voice interjected.  
‘Lure the prey with a false sense of security...be patient… let her come closer and then…’  
He shook his head so quickly; it was barely detectable but Loomis noticed. Of course she would.   
“Thank you, Michael. I think it is ok for me to call you Michael.  
Correct?”  
She was not expecting a reply, but she paused, just in case a miracle decided to happen. No miracles were forthcoming.  
“Michael, I really do want to try and help you, if you’ll let me. But I need you to help me by cooperating. OK?”  
Again, she waited for a miracle and again it was denied. There was no disappointment or surprise at the silence. She was not sure how to proceed. First sessions with patients were seldom easy. She’d been spat at, cursed at, propositioned and even had one patient who welcomed her to his home and offered her tea…but she had never been so quickly and completely assessed and then seemingly, dismissed by anyone as he had. The coldness in his eyes as he looked at her made her blood feel like ice water in her veins. She had been expecting evil in those eyes as her father had droned on incessantly about that and to be sure it was there. She saw that plain as day but the cold…. the cold was unexpected. The coldness was inhuman.

He began softly humming to himself and it surprised her to find the sound coming from him to be soft, deep and although tuneless, not unpleasant. After about ten minutes, she gathered this was his special way of telling her he was done with her… for now. So, she walked the few steps backwards to the door. She did not feel secure enough to turn her back just yet.  
“I will see you Monday, Michael.”  
She said without thinking. In fact, it was as if someone else spoke those words and they came from her lips. 

He heard the door open then close. He afforded himself a hint of a smile. Yes. He would see her Monday…and for many days after that. 

August:

She didn’t have a difficult time finding an apartment and secondhand car. A Jaguar XJ8 to be exact. All curves and with the proper hood ornament. Breslin has gone with her car shopping and chided her for buying such an unreliable hunk of junk. He drove a BMW 5 series sedan, a new one.

They had also become close. They saw each other at work and visited Michael together some days and separately others. 

Most nights, she poured over her father’s journals and notes. Breslin had requested access several times and she denied him each and every time. She had come to the conclusion if she were going to treat Michael Myers, she would need to arm herself with all the information she could get. But she was not ready to share her father’s private thoughts with Paul Breslin.

What she did not deny him was her bed. She did not love him, and he did not love her. But they were intellectual equals and that in itself was a turn on. Plus, they had their work in common. So, by day, they were colleagues and on some nights, they were lovers. She had not had many in her life and only two real relationships that failed in spectacular fashion. This relationship was different. There were no ridiculous expectations, just mutual respect and she believed, genuine affection for each other.

She awoke to the smell of bacon frying, so she showered quickly, threw on a robe and went downstairs to find Paul plating her breakfast. There was bacon, toast and two sickly looking eggs plus coffee. Despite their appearance, the eggs were good. Paul had a cup of coffee and nothing else.  
“What a nice surprise.... but, none for you?”  
He held his coffee cup out to her “This is all I need.”  
He drained the cup and washed it in the sink.   
“I have to go. I want to get in early. Do some work with Michael.”  
“Michael?”  
“Yes, our patient, you may have heard of him?”  
He smiled and she smiled back. Then he left. She ate her meal and went to get ready for work. 

He was sitting on his bed with his back against the wall watching Doctor Breslin watch him. The man had been looking at him for five minutes without uttering a word. He wondered if Breslin was trying to compete with him in some sort of silent contest. Breslin was not a small man. Six feet tall with broad shoulders. Dark brown hair, handsome face. 

He hated Breslin, more than he hated anyone in his entire life. Breslin was false. He wanted to crush his windpipe. He wanted to rip out his tongue and shove it down his throat. The voices ranted and raved each time Breslin set foot in his cell. It was all he could do to stop himself. If he had his work clothes and mask, he would lose control and there would be no stopping him. He would not need anything but his bare hands. He would snap the False Doctor’s neck like a twig. However, despite his desire to be brutal and merciless, he simply sat there, looking impassive. All the while the voices and that other thing that lived in his head presented him with wild visions of how horrible he could make Breslin’s death.

He was not overly cruel in his work. Unless cruelty was deserved. Most times, he had to work with whatever tools were at hand. Sometimes the tools were crude. He preferred a razor-sharp butcher’s knife but those weren’t always available, so he had to make do. He generally made deaths quick and relatively painless. Unless you mocked him, or disrespected him, or interfered with his work, or got on his nerves.  
Breslin got on his nerves. His fingers twitched and he ached to do something and so he did. He slowly stood up and walked towards Breslin in measured, even steps. Breslin got up and foolishly stood his ground and stared back at him as he had seen Samantha do more than once. Then Breslin was on the ground and Michael was casually examining his knuckles, which were bruised, like Breslin’s face. Michael tried to remember had he ever punched someone in the face. He did not think he ever did. It was oddly…satisfying…not slicing someone in the belly and watching their guts spill out satisfying…but still. Sadly, the feeling of satisfaction did not last long. Michael blinked several times slowly and when he returned his attention back to Breslin he realized the coward had fled the cell. 

Samantha stood with Paul watching Michael pace.   
“Did you say or do anything to provoke him?”  
“Me?”   
Breslin was incredulous  
“Me? Who knows what ticks him off!”  
She was surprised at the vehemence in his voice. Paul was glaring at the screen.  
“Michael Myers is a fucking, violent sociopath Sammie. The state should have put him down years ago!”  
“Paul, he’s not responsible for his actions. He’s tortured.”  
He turned to face her.  
“Samantha, you know who’s tortured? The loved ones of all those people he killed. I am rethinking the wisdom in inviting you onto this case.”  
“Well then, lucky for me you don’t have a say in whether I stay on.”  
She leaned over the desk and pressed the button to activate the speaker.  
“Michael, I’m coming in now.”  
He looked directly at the camera and then sat on the floor, hands folded in his lap, shoulders relaxed. Time for Michael Myers, model patient. For now. As violent and difficult as he could be, he could also be passive and compliant. Trouble was you never knew which Michael you’d encounter from day to day or even hour to hour. That was for him to decide. And his decisions were usually based on which he felt you deserved.

Paul and Samantha made up that evening.  
Paul even asked how Michael had behaved when Sammie saw him.   
“I don’t understand what happened. He was fine for the next two hours.”  
“He’s a sucker for a pretty face?”  
Paul touched her cheek when he said that, and she giggled.  
“In all seriousness though, I wish I could have a look at your Father’s notes. They might help me understand him better.”  
She shook her head.  
“The answer is no.”  
He nodded but, in his mind, Paul thought ‘I’ll wear you down.”

The next day she came to visit him alone as she always did on Thursdays. Good.   
She always had a kind word for him. She was always respectful. She was attentive and focused and those were all points in her favor, as far as he was concerned. As long as she remained all of those things and did not try to interfere with his work when the time came, she would survive. He stayed optimistic regarding the probability of her survival. Then he had an idea. This was a good time for a test…

She was sitting on the bench talking to him when he spun around and walked quickly to her. The cell was small, and it took him only a few steps to close the difference, but she managed to get to her feet. He cut her off before she could reach the door. Now he was between her and the only way out. She felt fear rising as a lump in her throat, fear in his presence for the first time. Actual fear.   
‘This might be it for me.’  
She thought. She quickly scanned the room then realized.   
‘Who am I kidding?’   
She asked herself  
She rallied her courage and forced her eyes to meet his. She spoke in a steady and even tone.  
“Michael, you are by far bigger and stronger than I am. If you decide to kill me, there is nothing I can do but cooperate with your plan and die. But if I am dead, I can’t help you anymore. And I believe, somewhere deep inside, Michael Myers wants someone to help him find his way.”

He stopped so close, the tips of his feet almost touched hers. He stared down at her while he worked through what she had said. It had taken him by surprise and surprise was not something he enjoyed. His mind fell back on its number one defense mechanism, impulses to crush her head between his hands raced through his brain. The idea of murdering her was exhilarating for a bit and so he savored the feeling of pleasure it brought him then he dismissed it. He knew he would not do it. He was just seeing what she would do if she was suddenly confronted by him. Her father never backed down. No matter what tricks Michael tried. He was pleased to see she had the same bit of bravado. He held her gaze a moment longer, then, he stepped out of her way.

Her first impulse was to run past him for the door but.... you should never run in the presence of a predator. And Michael was most definitely a predator. So, she held her ground and stared right back at him. Until he finally sat down. Her eyes followed his movement. Then she spoke in an even tone.   
“Michael. Why? Did I do or say something to offend you? Or is it something else?”  
She paused; her gaze never wavered.  
“I deserve an answer. I deserve something, Michael. This silent, glowering, boogeyman bullshit is just that. You are a man and you need help, Michael Myers. I want to help you. Let. Me. In.”  
Michael simply looked at the wall. She certainly possessed the right amount of bravery and dedication. She was properly determined. However, she needed to learn when he meant business and when he was just playing with her, like he was now.

She left the hospital after her incident with Michael and went straight home. Paul was waiting in his car outside her apartment and he met her at the door.  
“I heard there was a problem with Myers today.”  
“Hello to you too.”  
“Don’t change the subject. He tried to kill you today.”  
“Can we at least go inside?”

Paul just looked at her  
“This is the second time in one day I’ve been blocked from a door, only this time I’m being yelled at.”  
She said sarcastically.  
He stepped aside and she unlocked the door and went inside with Paul on her heels. She barely locked the door when Paul started in again.  
“He tried to kill you today.”  
She shook her head chuckling   
“He did not. If he wanted to kill me, he easily could have and would have.”  
Paul grew more exasperated.  
“Meeks called me and told me what happened. He cornered you, he was so close. Maybe murder wasn’t on his mind today.”  
“And just what do YOU think was on his mind, Doctor?”  
“He’s never had so much contact with a woman. Perhaps he’s considering his other.......options.”  
Samantha could not believe her ears. He could not be serious.  
“Paul. Michael is many things, but he is no rapist.”  
Paul threw up his hands. “Who knows what goes through that lunatic’s mind.”  
She shook her head.  
“He’s never molested a female or male patient or staff member. He’s never shown the slightest interest in sexual activity of any kind! I don’t even know if he understands what sex is.”  
“He’s a grown man, Sammie. Who can tell if he one day, he doesn’t have an epiphany and decide you’re a good subject to explore new territory with?”  
“He wouldn’t do that.”  
“You are so sure? Your father wasn’t. Your father was worried about you. He hoped you never went near Michael.”   
How could she explain the coldness of Michael’s soul? You either saw it or you did not. She also could not believe what Paul had just said!  
“You...you read my father’s notes?”  
Her voice was quiet and so was his.  
“One night I couldn’t sleep. One of the journals was lying there so I flipped through it. I saw he mentioned you and so I read the passage. I am just worried about you, Sammie.”  
She nodded but she didn’t believe him. She couldn’t remember having ever left her father’s things ‘lying around’.   
“I’m sorry Sammie. I don’t see the harm. It was just one passage. A few sentences and it’s not like I’m some stranger.”   
‘No. You’re not a stranger.’ She thought ‘You’re my friend and lover. At least I thought we were friends.’  
Her eyes brimmed with tears  
“You need to leave now, Paul”  
“Now!”  
She opened the door and stood to one side. He shook his head.  
“I can’t believe this.”  
“Paul, what I find hard to believe is you’re so worried about Michael violating me, but you were the one to do that.”  
He went to say something then he just stormed past her. She closed the door behind her and walked to the table where she sat down and sighed. ‘What a fucking day!’

He was surprised when she entered his cell alone Friday. Perhaps the other one died in his sleep. Michael allowed himself a moment to savor the thought. If he did, Michael hoped he choked to death. He hoped that he’d turned red then blue and finally purple, clawing at his throat…struggling for the tiniest amount of air to reach his bursting lungs. Unfortunately, he knew that wasn’t likely, he’d have heard something this morning. Well, that was good because Michael really wanted to do the deed himself.

“Good Afternoon, Michael.”   
She said. But her voice was dull and lacked any cheerfulness. He leaned forward a little and tilted his head to one side. She seemed well. No red cheeks, nose was not dripping. No tissue in her hand nor did she sniffle. No sign of sickness.   
“How are we today, Michael?”  
Her eyes were red. That was a sign of lack of sleep or crying.   
He had seen enough hysterical crying by the recipients of his work to recognize the results. Crying meant upset. What happened to upset her? The voices started, demanding he kill her, but he smashed them down. When would they learn? She was a requirement! Sometimes they could be so stupid and impulsive!   
He took a step towards her then another, but she barely noticed. He stopped. The voices in his head were strangely silent as he pondered how to change this situation. It made him uneasy, though he was not sure why.   
“You must be a little patient with me Michael. Today, I am not quite myself. May I sit down?”  
She waited for the ‘nothing’ to follow but today, she got her miracle. Slowly he extended his right hand, his index finger pointing to the small shelf that served as a chair.  
“Michael!”  
She exclaimed excitedly, then she damped down her happiness. It was not wise to show too much emotion with any patient. She forced herself to calm down  
“Thank you very much, Michael.”  
He was quite pleased with himself. One little gesture had perked her up. He began to wonder why. But dismissed that quickly. It achieved his goal of getting her back to concentrating on him. She moved to sit where he indicated, checked her watch and scribbled in her notebook. She wanted to record the exact moment and recount the first time Michael Myers responded to her.

At first, he thought she might reach out and touch him. If she had done that…. terrible, violent thoughts filled his head. He forced them still. No point in getting worked up over something that did not happen.  
He stood near the far wall, facing her.  
Her eyes were still red, but her voice was much more cheerful. Task accomplished. She was focused on him again. Sometimes it astounded him how in control he was. The slightest movement brought the exact results he wanted, nearly every time. It took so little effort.  
“Michael, we have made an incredible breakthrough today!”  
She was smiling. It made him uncomfortable. He could not remember the last time he made someone smile. Actually, he could. Halloween, 1963. His grandmother telling him stories just before he went out trick or treating. 

As always, whenever he thought about the other times, brutal anger enveloped him like a cocoon. It was so swift and terrible that it actually hurt. There were few times he felt physical pain, this was one of them. It was almost like late October. When he could not control it and the fury brought out his other self. The one even he sometimes feared. 

This demanded a release. Michael Myers, sociopathic serial killer had a choice. Kill her or…. or what? He smashed his fist into the wall, and she heard bones crack. She wasn’t sure what happened, but she could tell he was furious. She scooted off the shelf and darted under the bed, curling up and pressing her body to the wall, shrinking back as far as she could and covered her head. Paul was right! This was far too dangerous! She must have been insanely stupid to think she could ever reach him. And her stupidity will now cost her, her life.

He reached his bed in three strides and he crouched down, reaching under for her. She tried to shrink back from him but any second now she expected to feel strong hands grab her, drag her out and then…. then she’d die. 

He had a choice and he made it. Instead of grabbing Samantha, he rammed his head into the hard metal shelf bed. More sickening cracking and then dripping blood. The pain brought him back to himself. The headache caused by the impact was infinitely less intense than the one caused by the rage, but it was just enough of a distraction. He sat down slowly, and she scooted out from under her hiding spot to see his two legs over the side of the bed.  
“Michael?”   
She queried her voice weaker than it had ever been. The legs did not move. Once more she scooted, but from under the bed and scrambled to her feet. He was sitting back. His pupils were dilated, and blood was flowing from a large gash in his forehead. The doctor in her took over. Forgetting her fear, she stood up just as guards burst through the door.  
“Everything is fine, I think he has a concussion, possibly a fractured skull.”  
She leaned over him and pulled a thin and bright pen light from her lab coat breast pocket. She shined the light in one eye then the other.   
“Get a stretcher in here right away. He needs a CAT scan”  
They called for what she needed while an attendant brought her, her medical bag. She took out her blood pressure machine and wrapped the cuff around his arm. He bristled at the contact, but the truth was, he was too tired to do much about it. And his head hurt something fierce, not to mention the throbbing in his hand.  
“You’re going to need stitches in that head, Michael.”  
He managed to glare at her in a way that told her there was not going to be any stitches.  
“Have it your way.”  
She said with a sigh.  
‘So, you think.’  
She thought to herself.

Two hours later, Michael was strapped down with metal bands and loaded up with Thorazine. He was out cold.   
She stitched up his forehead (amazingly, no skull fracture) and she wrapped his hand which had two fractures. Driving home, she wondered how he would react when he woke up. He would not be happy. 

She only reconsidered being Michael's Doctor briefly. Her father had his moments of doubt as well over his long career. But the truth was, Michael was absolutely fascinating. He was dangerous and unpredictable but at times, he was childlike and seemed almost vulnerable. Clearly, he had been confused earlier. Torn between his murderous impulses and his sense of whatever it was that prevented him from killing her.

She came home to find two dozen roses waiting for her. Also, a card declaring Paul’s sorrow. She brought them inside and arranged them in water. He’d called twice and twice she’d ignored his call. 

Paul Breslin tried for the third time to call Samantha so he could talk to her. But she did not answer again. He pressed his lips together and thought about his next move. His book deal depended on him getting those notes of her father’s. He had promised the publishers a work of non-fiction profiling all the most notorious serial killers of the past 100 years, and Michael Myers was going to be the featured subject. But the entire deal was contingent upon the publication of highlights of Dr. Samuel Loomis’ personal notes. Sure, he’d have to paraphrase them to avoid litigation, but he had a fantastic literary attorney who would guide him through that process. His main focus was to get back in Samantha’s good graces. He’d have to proceed carefully from here on. If all worked out well, he’d end up rich and see Michael Myers brought down forever.

He woke up with a sore throat from being dry. The damned catheter and bedpan were back. His forehead hurt and his hand hurt. An attendant came in and removed both offending items. He ignored the pain and soon he did not notice it. She had stitched his head and she’d wrapped his hand. He breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly. The Thorazine was still affecting him. It would wear off quickly enough. Taking in extra oxygen helped with that. What would he do about her defiance? Nothing. She was a healer. She had to do her work. This was something he understood. They were a good pairing. He destroyed and she repaired. Of course, her only purpose was to repair him as required. There was no help for anyone he performed his work on.   
His mind wandered…and he began to dwell on the notion that she might try to stop him. She may overstep the boundaries he set for her. He expected she would, and he would accept, allow and even forgive a small transgression here or there. After all, he knew she could not help but act within her nature. But she needed to understand there were limits to his mercy. It would not please him to have to hurt her. He did not want to kill her. But if she went too far… His throat was so damn dry.

She was there before Breakfast. 7am. He was wide awake, and his throat burned. She entered his cell cautiously, but truth be told, he could not even bring himself to stand up. This had happened before a few times. And he hated the weakness brought on by it. Getting shot, no problem. Stabbed, minor setback. But this situation when his throat hurt, and his body ached, and he could not breathe through his nose properly was miserable. He wanted to sit up, but his head throbbed. She noticed too. The moment she set eyes on him.  
“Michael! You have a fever, I think. I need to take your temperature.”  
She had her medical bag and she crossed the room to where he sat. He did not make a move. He’d let her do almost anything if he got a drink out of it. He would even take water at this point!

She retrieved a small machine out of her bag and touched it to his forehead. It beeped and she looked at it, frowning.  
“102.8 Michael. You’re sick.”  
He looked at her impassively. She swallowed hard.  
“I need to check those stitches, Michael, make sure there’s no infection”   
The stitches. He had to do something about them. He reached up, found one and pulled all eight out.   
“Michael!”  
It hurt, but he ignored it. He expelled a short breath through his nostrils in response. He stared at her, daring her to retaliate. She stared right back at him, then rooted around in her bag coming up with two items he recognized. Tape and gauze. As her hands moved towards his forehead, he raised his hand to grab hers, but she knocked it away. Inwardly, he seethed at the insolence, but the rage just did not grip him as hard.   
“Michael, I need to tend to this and if you give me a hard time it will have to be Thorazine ….”  
He leaned forward, but she leaned into him, facing off and he sat back again, watching her as she continued speaking.  
“Thorazine means a bed pan….and catheter.”  
Another short sharp breath through his nostrils and he relaxed. He’d allow this. Give her this small victory.

She worked quickly to dress the wound. She applied a liberal amount of cream then the bandages and finally secured them in place with tape. She smelled pleasant. The voices had begun to rage but he was not going to be entertaining them right now.   
She moved back.  
“I’m guessing with that fever you must be thirsty.”  
He looked directly into her eyes. His desire for water cost him his resolve. He lowered his head and raised it. A nod. She smiled as bright as the sun and nodded in response and called for a pitcher of water and a cup. 

An attendant brought the items she requested, and he watched her every move as she poured water from a plastic pitcher into a paper cup and offered it to him. He took it and drained it in one gulp. Nothing had ever felt so good in all his life. He handed her back the cup and she refilled it. He took it, set it down and looked over at the pitcher.   
‘Pick your battles, with him.’  
She told herself, and handed him the pitcher, which he gulped down almost as quickly as the cup. That was better. His throat did not feel so dry and hot.   
“Michael, I’m going to instruct them to keep this pitcher full. I want you to drink a lot of fluids, understand?”  
He simply looked at her.   
“Now I need to check your hand, OK”  
He narrowed his eyes and tensed up. He sat up straight and still staring at her, he raised his injured hand and slowly unwrapped it with his good hand. The bandages fell to the floor and he clenched it into a fist. He winced as he did so and slowly opened it. He repeated the action and the second time, he grimaced slightly. The third time, his face remained passive as if he felt nothing.  
He clenched and released his fist, once more, just so it was clear. His hand did not need any more attention. He would not allow any. She spoke to him about nothing important for a while longer then she called for more water and once it was there, she said good-bye. In the main corridor she checked her phone…. Three more calls from Paul. She supposed it couldn’t hurt to talk….

Paul and Samantha did speak. He did apologize and naturally, she accepted. They fell back into their routine of working together. Seeing Michael separately and as a team. When Michael was with Samantha alone, he was usually relaxed and at times, communicative. But he was either completely unresponsive or terrible when Paul was with her. Usually, those sessions ended with Paul exiting the cell early and Samantha scolding Michael while he stared at the wall ignoring her completely. 

The day he learned that Paul and Samantha were personally involved was a warm day. He was allowed out for fresh air several times a week depending on his behavior and he always tried to earn that time because it afforded him an opportunity to observe and test all sorts of possibilities. Plus, he learned a lot outside. If it was easy for him to become invisible in a 10 x 10 cell it was nothing to do so in a courtyard where there was so much activity!

He was standing off to a far corner when he saw Samantha enter the yard. She saw him and gave a little smile. She was always cheerful. It was pleasant.

She had made it about halfway across the courtyard when that fool showed his face and caught up with her. Then, she turned her attention from HIM and focused it on that other doctor. They spoke briefly, he could not hear a word. Then that fool touched her arm and she smiled at him. She nodded, even laughed a bit. But none of that mattered. What mattered was she turned from HIM and focused her attention elsewhere! And that filth had put his hand on her arm as if he had the right to! As if she were His to touch. Michael was furious! No one was ever allowed to touch his things. NO ONE! If Paul Breslin had not already made it to the top of the long list before, he held that spot now! He was going to die, and his death would be epic! It was all he could do not to tear him apart right there. And she. She would need to be taught a lesson. She needed to understand her place in his world. She had to know that her sole purpose was to focus on him and him alone. The voices were whispering. Telling him to do vile and terrible things to both of them. He entertained those thoughts for the rest of his time outside and a good portion of the rest of his day. She came to see him, but he acted as if she didn’t exist until she left. The following day, the both of them showed up but he was deemed too restless for a session and so they left the maximum-security ward without entering his cell. The next day, he ignored them completely again. Then it was Thursday. For Samantha Loomis, school would be in session. Yes. She will learn her place today.

She walked into his cell as she did any other day and greeted him warmly. She wanted to change the dressing on his forehead, and he looked at her as he usually did. He was relaxed despite the screaming and pounding in his skull. Every part of him burned with desire to inflict fear and pain. He had to be careful. Today was a teaching day NOT a day to satisfy his ever-growing blood lust. For August was drawing to a close and Halloween was fast approaching.

He let her work in peace and she remarked that this would be the last dressing. When this one came off, she’d just let it finish healing. 

She had just zipped her bag when he grabbed her by the wrist with his fractured hand and he squeezed. She winced and cried out in pain. It hurt him too because he was using his injured hand. He did that on purpose because the pain he felt served to remind him not to go too far. She was pleading for him to let her go and he enjoyed her cries for a moment. Oh, how he wished to be somewhere else causing someone else to be crying, begging as he drained their life from them. But that would have to wait. He stood up to his full height and glared at her. He grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her twice, then twice more. He shot her an ugly look before shaking her once more for good measure. Then he lifted her right out of her shoes and dropped her. She almost fell but he kept her upright. All the while, he glared at her with fury.  
“Michael, whatever I did, I’m sorry. If I offended you, I am sorry.”  
She was looking up at him, her eyes focused on him and only him as it should be. She did not look away, even when Paul and the two guards came bursting through the doors. They fired the tranquilizer guns at him, and the darts hit him. But still, he held her gaze. Now she knew her place and her job. 

He turned to look at the guards who were astounded the tranquilizer had not affected him yet. Well it was not going to! He would not allow it. But he had let them all believe it had. He went to his bed and sat down then leaned back. He closed his eyes and his breathing regulated. When Paul went to check if he was out, Michael lunged forward, and Paul jumped about three feet in the air.

Michael settled down resting his hands in his lap. No one touches what was his unless he willed it. NO ONE TOUCHES MY THINGS! No one. The rant went on in his head until he was so enraged, he could not move, so he just sat on his bed fuming. To anyone who would observe him now, he would seem absolutely at peace.

It had always been Paul Breslin’s plan to see Michael Myers dead once and for all. He had spent most of his life planning it. Paul had revenge on his mind. You see, his father was a working-class man and always took on extra work at his garage whenever he could. He learned everything about fixing cars and trucks from Old Man Phelps. When the man passed away at work, at 97 years old, Paul’s dad simply took over the garage. He never bothered to change the name. That’s what he had been doing that Monday, driving his tow truck when he saw the broken down station wagon at the side of the road. The hood was raised and there was no one in sight. Paul’s father stopped the truck and went over to look and that was that. His dad had been a large man and that’s probably why Michael chose him when he crept up upon the unsuspecting samaritan, looking for clothes to replace his hospital attire. Yes. Michael Myers has to die and stay dead. Doctor Paul Breslin had a plan.

Part III

Treats and Tricks: 

September rolled in on a gorgeous day and Samantha Loomis planned a new approach in dealing with Michael. She wore a bright yellow dress with white daisies and yellow shoes. Her outfit was more appropriate for Spring than late Summer, but society no longer held onto those outdated notions of fashion so why should she? She carried a brown paper bag. Samantha knew Michael enjoyed sunlight and was only permitted to experience it outdoors a handful of times during his incarceration. Even though the law required inmates to be afforded opportunities to exercise and receive fresh air. Michael was considered too unstable mentally and could not be trusted to behave appropriately. It cost him what little ‘freedom’ the law would allow him. Today she planned to take him outside for lunch. This required a lot of convincing. Doctor Meeks wasn’t sure this was a great idea and the head of security felt it was a huge risk. They both agreed when she promised she would have guards on him at all times. Tranquilizer guns, tasers and batons at the ready; in case Michael so much as batted an eye the wrong way. Paul thought she was a lunatic for taking such a risk. Now, the only obstacle she had was Michael himself. Would he allow it? Well, she would find out soon enough. She made her way to the maximum-security ward and was buzzed in without incident. 

He turned around his gaze settling on the bag she was carrying. His mind went wild with the possibilities of what might be in it. What things that he could use to wreak havoc. He chided himself for being stupid. She was not going to bring him anything he could use as a weapon. He looked her over. She was more pleasurable to look at today than usual. She made him think of sunlight and she always smelled good. He dismissed those thoughts because they served no purpose. She was speaking and saying something he felt he should pay attention to.  
“…So, I thought you might like to have lunch outside with me today.”  
This was interesting. If he could have laughed, he would have done so. Because the idea of him taking a picnic lunch was utterly absurd. But instead he stood up. And waited. Guards came and shackled his wrists and ankles, but she held up her hand when they went to attach the chains at his wrists to the ones at his waist.   
“That’s enough, gentlemen. I’ve cleared this with Doctor Meeks, and I trust Michael will behave himself.”  
She looked up at him for affirmation and he bowed his head slightly and raised it. He most definitely would behave well. When he promised to behave, he always did because he wasn’t false. Plus, he was curious to see how today would play out.

It was interesting. She made her way to a bench on the courtyard and he took the side in the sun. She had brought sandwiches and chips and soda (caffeine free). Normally he paid no attention to what he ate as it was something he merely needed to do to survive. He generally was not picky, and he had resorted to sinking to some pretty low levels to provide himself with nourishment while performing his work. But the sandwiches were good and fresh, and he ate his share while she talked about things he ignored because they held no value to him. When they had finished the sandwiches and chips, she spread all sorts of candy on the seat between them. Also, intriguing. No one had given him sweets in years.   
“Do you have a preference?”  
She asked, indicating the variety before him. He stared down at the confections as if they were some object from another planet. He raised his eyes to meet hers and she could see the inquiry there.  
“It’s OK Michael, they’re just candies. I would never try to trick you.”  
Her voice was soft and kind. It reminded him of when he was a child and his grandmother gave him treats before dinner. She would say it was their secret. The voices in his head were still. He shifted on the bench because he was uncomfortable with this situation. No thoughts of violence, no tension and no thing that lived within him demanding chaos and blood. Such a strange sensation.

He chose a Kit Kat first then proceeded to eat the other dozen or so pieces in rapid succession and she watched him as if his eating candy were the most interesting thing she’d ever witnessed. She made notes as he ate but he did not care about what she wrote down. Whatever significance she placed on how fast and in what order he ate candy was lost on him. 

When he finished, they stayed for a while longer and she continued to speak, and he continued to pay no attention until the bell sounded. That meant it was time to go back inside. He felt a bit of disappointment at that. Another experience he was unaccustomed to. Her voice was soothing, even when she was not providing any useful information. It had a certain musical cadence that quieted the voices in his head. He had an hour today during lunch with no voices and no thoughts of violence. But once he was all alone in his cell he waited impatiently. For the voices would come back. Because without them he was simply Michael Myers, an empty vessel of nothingness. Which was not pleasant at all.

Paul didn’t even bring up the fact that she had lunch with a psychotic killer. He wasn’t going to do anything to risk their relationship. Not because he loved her but because he still needed permission to use her father’s notes. He considered her good wife and mother material. When she told him of her time with Michael that evening over dinner, he asked what she hoped to accomplish? She explained that she wanted to see if he had any reaction, any likes, or dislikes. She remarked that Michael had been better behaved than usual and that he seemed more relaxed and even a bit sad when she left him in his cell. Paul wanted to laugh in her face, but he just took a sip of wine and told her he thought her new approach was innovative. They went to bed and were intimate. They fell asleep shortly afterwards. The following morning Paul left for a short trip. He kissed Samantha goodbye and left for 4 days.

He noticed she was visiting him alone the last three days and that pleased him. He was having more bouts of rage and he needed to appear as if he were more calm than ever. So, no one became suspicious and considered this year might be THE year. She was crucial in helping him maintain a peaceful façade. He had no further out bursts and was more cooperative than he had ever been. She made things easier for him to prepare for his work. This was why she had to live.

Finding a razor-sharp butcher knife was easy. So was buying an outsized mechanics work suit which Paul washed and dried several times, so it was well broken in. He knew Michael’s shoe size from his medical records and finally found a size 12 1/2 work boots after visiting several thrift shops. Finding the right mask was more difficult but he managed that too. As a man who had studied the criminal mind for years, he knew everything had to be perfect for Michael to do what was expected of him. But Myers would follow his urges and once he did, Paul would have all the ammunition he needed to put that animal down for good. He just had to get the things to Michael and trigger him so he could cut him down before he began this time. But he even had a plan for that.

Samantha had to admit she felt a considerable amount of trepidation as September passed quickly. Michael was being so cooperative, it worried her. And Paul was behaving strangely since returning from his brief holiday. It was all too damn weird.

They were sitting in the living room of her apartment reading over some of her father’s notes and Paul was making notations of his own.   
“Listen to this, Sam”.   
Paul said “Michael can manipulate people and situations to suit his needs. He displayed this power many times during his incarceration and throughout the hearings during his childhood and teen years. One paper called him a ‘charming young man.’ Several judges remarked that they found him ‘likable’. “  
Samantha chewed the eraser on her pencil thinking.  
“I can see that.” She said.   
“Sam, have you read all of his notes?”  
“Not all, but a lot.”  
“Do you know that your father refers to him as Michael when he speaks of him residing in the hospital but calls him ‘The Shape’ several times when referencing his actions in Haddonfield.”  
She shrugged   
“Is this significant?”  
“The Shape was a term used by Cotton Mather in the Salem Witch Trials. He used that to describe the evil forces causing mayhem in the villages.”  
“My father went from being a rational, brilliant doctor of psychiatry to being obsessed with a single case. Following Michael like some sort of wild-eyed Van Helsing chasing Dracula. But I must admit. Unfortunately, my dad was usually right when it came to Michael.”  
Paul nodded in understanding. It was now or never.  
“He killed my father.”  
Samantha looked shocked  
“My DAD killed your FATHER??”  
Paul rolled his eyes.   
“No! MICHAEL killed my father.”  
“Michael?”  
“Yes. It’s why I do what I do. Michael needed clothing when he escaped, my dad was close to his size and crossed his path. That was that. So, I needed to learn why? What drives him? I need to understand him, and people like him. I need to try to protect the innocent. Prevent what happened to my family from happening to anyone else’s.”  
Well, it was partly true. 

Samantha looked at Paul with understanding and pity. He wanted neither from her because she looked at that pig Myers the same way. She cared about that psycho. She genuinely wanted to help him even though it was a fucking lost cause. Even if Jesus Christ himself pronounced Michael forgiven and absolved of all previous sin and Myers went on to feed the homeless and heal the sick. Paul Breslin would still cut him down and dance all the way to Hell and eternal damnation for it.  
“I’m so sorry, Paul. I had no idea.”  
He was sure she was sorry for what had happened. It didn’t matter. 

The rest of September was on the warm and dry side and Michael and Samantha had most of their sessions alone which suited Michael just fine. When Paul showed up it didn’t require much for Michael to summon his rage and display it, which always sent Paul flying for the door. Issuing warnings to Samantha of how she had better take care because one day that fury would be unleashed on her. One particular day, after Paul left, issuing a similar warning, Samantha turned and would have sworn on a stack of bibles Michael was smirking. The next instant. His face was expressionless.   
“Michael, why do you torment him above all others?”  
Silence for a moment and then….  
‘He hates me.’  
Wait! Did Michael Myers just speak? Did she imagine it? She must have because she had been watching him the entire time and his lips hadn’t moved. Or had they?   
“Michael Aubrey Myers, did you just speak to me?”  
He tilted his head slightly to one side and shrugged. A barely detectable movement. Then he turned and faced the wall and began humming softly. Figuring out if he spoke or she thought he spoke was her problem. But he knew she would not quit and run away. Not Samuel Loomis’ daughter. And that made him smile. A small, impish, and cruel little smile as his mind ran through all the ways he would trick and twist and torment her while he went about his work in Haddonfield. She would play his game and play it well, just like he wanted. Just like her father had. 

She left his cell and wondered if her mind was playing tricks on her, or was he?

Planting two of the items was easy. He had entered his cell when he knew he was showering. He used a scalpel to cut the padding free from the shelf that served as his bed and lay the flattened mask and mechanics jumpsuit under the padding. Then he replaced the padding, fixing it just so. He stepped back and admired his work. It looked almost perfect. Now to restart the security camera. He had a month to figure out the shoes and the knife. The guard was on his break and Breslin had offered to watch the station while the relief guard took a piss and had a smoke. He presses the button on the camera and looked at Michael’s cell via video feedback. The bed looked even better on the screen. The guard came back and Dr. Breslin exchanged a few pleasantries and proceeded down the hall towards the exit. They were walking Michael back from the showers. Michael and Paul passed each other. Under his breath, to himself Paul whispered.  
“You’re fucked.”   
No normal human could have possibly heard him but Michael did. He stopped short, pivoting to look at the doctor. His attendants coaxed him verbally to keep moving but he ignored them. His eyes burned holes into the back of Breslin, who kept walking without looking back. Oh how he ached to use the chains! He pictured himself wrapping them around Breslin’s neck and tightening them until his eyes bulged and his tongue protruded. He would tighten those chains until white foam dribbled from his mouth and his head popped off. He imagined how Samantha would look mortified when they told her what he had done. She had come to him and beg a reason and he would not even look her way. He would not acknowledge her at all. That would be her punishment for soiling herself with that filth. Her horror would feed the voices and even arouse his body. Sometimes when he killed, he got physically excited. He did not mind it too much sometimes. Other times it was an annoying distraction. He resumed walking much to the relief of the attendants. Killing Paul Breslin was now Michael Myers absolute favorite fantasy.

He knew something was amiss the moment he entered his cell. It did not take him long to figure out what. Someone had tampered with his bed. Curiosity burned in him, but he had to be careful about how he proceeded. He waited the rest of the evening patiently and was on his best behavior until lights out. He sat down for a few minutes then laid his head on the higher padded part. He ran his finger along the seam where the padding was attached to the shelf, but it wasn’t attached anymore. Something was under it . He rolled over so he faced the wall (obstructing the camera) and raised the edge up just a bit. Blue heavy cotton material. He could guess what else might be under there. The reason why Breslin would provide him with objects he needed to carry out his work next month eluded him. But he would figure it out. Right now, he needed rest. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Paul and Samantha were watching a movie that they really were not paying attention to. It really wasn’t very good, and Paul had taken to reviewing Sam Loomis’s notes as he usually did when he had some free time. He thought this might be a good time to begin to let Samantha in on his plans. Some of them anyway.   
“You know, your dad was right, he is pure evil.”  
“Paul, I can see how you would feel that way. And you are right Michael has committed some truly atrocious crimes. But he is a sick man. He is not responsible.”  
“Sammie everything that creature does is calculated to ensure his bloodlust is satisfied. You have to admit that.”  
She nodded slowly. She started to say something then stopped herself. Paul was curious.  
“What? Tell me”  
She spoke slowly looking down at her lap.  
“I think…. I think Michael May have spoken to me”  
Paul looked long and hard at her. If this were true it definitely meant more money! Imagine the bidding war to get the exclusive! Michael Myers speaks! They’d pay. It didn’t matter what he said. The public opening of the Titanic safe sprang to mind. There was nothing in that box and they made a 2-hour special and millions off it. Michael Myers could have recited the alphabet and it would make Paul rich, if Sam agreed to help him. Best not to push now.  
“Did he say anything important?”  
He spoke softly, careful not to make it sound like it as if it mattered all that much to him.   
“He said you hate him.”  
“I do.”  
Paul couldn’t stop himself. The words just tumbled out faster than he would have liked.  
“Paul, given your bias in this matter, you really ought to excuse yourself from the case completely.”  
He controlled himself this time.  
“I may hate him, but I am a doctor. I am fully committed to making sure we put an end to his suffering, despite my personal feelings.”  
Well, it was not a lie, more like a different version of the truth. 

All he could think about was what was under the padding of his bed. He lay at night when the lights were off and ran his thumb along the ridge, just to make contact with the course, dark texture of the jumpsuit. It set him on edge. He had discovered the mask also hidden there and touching that made his mind become frenzied and physically aroused. And in a few weeks, he’d have use for these items. For now, he had to be content with touching them. Which he did, as a lover caresses their beloved. He entertained incredibly vivid fantasies of killing both random strangers and people on his long list. But most of all, he fantasized about killing Doctor Breslin. He had all sorts of ideas as to what to do with him. He wondered if he would be able to make it last. He did not want him to go quickly. He had to take his time with that one.

He could not sleep. In the middle of the night, he was pacing his cell in circles. By dawn, he was pacing faster and not paying attention, walked into walls several times. He did not notice, just turned around and went in a different direction. There was so little room! He needed room! He needed to kill. He was so enraged, tears ran down his cheeks, which infuriated him even more. Before the sun fully rose, he was pulling his hair. 

They called Doctor Loomis at 6:30AM, she was there by 7:00AM. She walked into his cell like Daniel marched into the lion’s den. Without any thought for her own safety, she walked directly in his path and held out her hands in front of her.  
“Michael, please stop hurting yourself…please.”   
He stopped walking but was still pulling at his hair. She swallowed, took a step closer and tentatively reached out her hands, placing one of hers over each of his. It was ludicrous because her hands were so small. He wanted to explode on her and rip her apart for touching him. But he didn’t. He just stood there, breathing heavy and glaring at her. She held his harsh gaze with her serene one.   
“Michael. Whatever it is. I’d like to try to help.”  
She had curled her fingers around the side of his hands and was gently tugging at him. She led him to his bed and guided him to a sitting position. She put his hands in his lap and sat next to him, laying her hands over his and applying gentle pressure to help keep his hands where she had put them. No one in that room believed for a second, she could hold him down if he wanted to get back up. But he was so tired and aggravated. His head hurt, his hand hurt so bad it had swelled up and the voices had escalated to the point where he just reached his limit. He did not know what to do. But she was calming. She did not rave like her father. She was smooth and steady, he thought she was extremely brave and also very foolish. Because doing things like she just did was going to get her killed. That thought did not excite him. It made his stomach turn. For the first time since he was six years old, the thought of extinguishing a life made him sick. Oh, how the voices raged within! 

Satisfied he had calmed enough; she walked to the intercom and pushed the button.   
“Could you please bring Mr. Myers his breakfast now.”  
They acknowledged her request, but everyone refused to enter his cell, so she went outside to get his food and brought it to his table. He sat quietly. He wanted to go over there and throw the food on the floor and then beat her head against the wall until there was nothing left but pulp. No. That was one of the voices. What Michael wanted was to eat his food and maybe let her wrap his hand again and stop the throbbing. He thought hard on that last bit and just as he willed it, she called for her medical bag. Again, she had to go outside to retrieve it from the nurse. She sat while he ate. She did not speak and he was glad for the silence. When he was done. She walked over with her bag and began seeing to his hand. The entire time she worked, he watched her movements, fascinated. She drew a syringe from her bag and tested it. “You need sleep Michael. This will help. I know you hate to miss lunch; I promise I’ll make sure you don’t. We might even be able to eat outside again.”   
He relaxed and turned his face away staring at the wall. This was his way of giving permission to proceed.  
“Thank you.”  
She said as the needle pricked his skin. He laid down and closed his eyes. In five minutes, he was fast asleep.

Paul Breslin sat in Doctor Meeks’ office, each having a cup of coffee.  
“I have to say Doctor Breslin, I don’t feel comfortable discussing the Myers case without Dr. Loomis being present.”  
“I mean no disrespect to Samantha Loomis, but this case is extraordinary. And I have to say I don’t think she is capable of remaining at the level of professional impartiality needed here.”  
“I also have to say, I read your proposal and it is quite controversial. Traditional lobotomies haven’t been performed since the early seventies. What you are suggesting we do; we would be killing him without actually doing so. Severing nerves to the prefrontal cortex is bad enough but injecting saline will leave him all but brain dead IF he survives.”  
“Doctor Meeks, I understand your concern, but this is Michael Myers we are discussing. He isn’t really deserving of the same considerations as any other patient.”  
“He’s still a human being Doctor Breslin.”  
“Michael Myers is a textbook example of a psychopath, a sociopath, and possessed of about a dozen other mental deficiencies.”  
“Still. He cannot stand trial because he is considered mentally ill. Therefore, he cannot be executed for his crimes.”  
“What if he gets out again…or attempts to? Wouldn’t we owe it to society to put an end to this threat once and for all?”  
Meeks sighed.  
“I suppose I’d be more inclined to agree if he actually tried to break out again.”  
There it was! Exactly what Breslin needed. Now all he had to do was make sure Michael did his part. Paul would make certain he did. For once Michael Myers would be the puppet dancing on the end of someone else’s strings.

True to her word, she was waiting in his cell when he woke up. She had the bag again that held food and despite protestations from security, she did take him outside in the warm sun and it felt good. He was extremely hungry and when she noticed he had eaten his lunch in a few minutes she offered him the rest of hers which he took without hesitation and ate as well. He felt better and the screaming in his head had quieted down considerably. He attributed that to having eaten enjoyable food, the sunlight, and the restful sleep earlier. He was also quite certain the drugs she gave him contained a painkiller as well. If he were able to feel gratitude towards anyone, he would certainly feel it towards her. Nothing in his head offered any argument. He reasoned that she had well-earned and now safely held the top spot, all alone on the short list.

Samantha was mentally exhausted. Dealing with the complexity of the mind of any criminally insane person was taxing enough. Dealing with the mind of Michael Myers was like trying to drain the ocean with a teaspoon. She got home after dark and collapsed on her sofa. She dozed off instantly, waking up to the sound of a key turning the lock. Paul walked in carrying roses and a bottle of wine.   
“Happy anniversary! It’s three months since we met”  
He crossed the room, set the bottle and flowers down on the coffee table and leaned down planting a quick kiss on her lips. He pulled back  
“Sammie, are you feeling well? You look.”   
“Awful.”   
She finished his sentence and yawned. He looked at her. She had lost at least 15 -odd pounds. She had a cute figure now. Michael was sucking the life from her, though. When her father met Michael, he was a seasoned Veteran and Michael was a boy. But now Michael was well experienced, and she hadn’t been prepared for him. The condition she was in proved that. He’d be glad when this was all over. He would have his revenge, be wealthy and perhaps gain an intelligent and now cute wife to have children with. Samantha, Paul, and the rest of the world would be free of Michael Myers. He knew of at least one sleepy little Illinois town that might even consider him a hero. Hell, they might even name him mayor for the day.

October roared in with a violent wind and rain storm. It set many of the inhabitants of Smiths Grove on edge but not him. He liked storms. It was nice to know something was raging somewhere else besides inside his head.

His thoughts were always dark now. Calm or agitated it did not matter. The voices… all the time, night, and day. Sometimes whispering, other times, screaming, once in while just speaking but always demanding, insisting, pleading.  
‘That one looked at you crossly, kill them!”  
‘This one tampered with your food. They deserve to die!”  
‘Remember how good it feels when their life drains out of them? Don’t you want to feel that again?’ 

And when they were not pointing out potential victims, they constantly repeated ‘Haddonfield! Halloween! Haddonfield! Halloween!’ An incessant loop running in his head day and night. But just as he could be sure the voices would not be appeased until he got on with his work later that month, he could be sure Samantha would show up for their daily session. And she did, every single day, until one day…. She didn’t.

“I just wish you would have given me a little warning that’s all.”  
Samantha said as she sat beside Paul in his Beemer, cruising down the interstate.  
“Sam you need this. An unexpected holiday away from it all. Just to relax”  
“Paul, I really appreciate what you are trying to do but really, we could still turn back. I could make arrangements.”  
He was getting angry now.  
“What are you so worried about, Huh? Your precious Michael Myers might go off the deep end because you are not there one day? That’s a laugh!”  
She frowned.   
“Paul. He relies on me. I am making real progress with him. And what with it being so close to Halloween, now.”  
“How many times has he tried to kill you?”  
“He has never tried to kill me. Michael Myers doesn’t TRY to kill, he does so… if he meant to kill me, he most certainly would have”  
Paul glanced at her  
“I don’t know what it is about him, but he sure has you wrapped around his finger.”  
“Paul. Stop it! That’s insulting!”  
“Maybe I got it wrong. Maybe he’s wrapped around your finger!”  
She shook her head and despite her upset she had to laugh at the absurdity.  
“Now you’re being ridiculous.”  
“Look I don’t want to fight. Let’s go out for the day and we’ll stop by the hospital so you can say hello to your favorite sociopath, deal?”  
“Deal.”  
And they continued to drive out for an enjoyable day at a nearby state park.

He was furious at her! The time for their session had long come and gone and she never showed up. Every time he heard footsteps in the hall ended in bitter disappointment because they weren’t hers. And every time they weren’t hers, his rage grew. Where was she? After a short while of wondering, he decided she must be out somewhere with that filth. That was the only thing that distracted her from him. He stalked around his cell in anger. The voices were strangely subdued, yet his fury was blazing. Oh, they were there, whispering but it seemed as if they were satisfied that he was angry enough and did not need much encouragement from them.

Currently his favorite idea for Breslin’s demise was to dismember him alive. To drive the tip of his knife into each joint and twist and dig until the joint popped and then he could slice through the flesh… cut away the piece from the whole. He would do that until Breslin died of pain or blood loss. He did not much care which. As for Samantha. He would not kill her, but she would be punished. She would pay for disappointing him. He imagined her at his feet begging him to. To what? He did not know what exactly. It was difficult to imagine committing violence upon her. That disturbed him.   
‘Predators don’t show weakness. They punish the disloyal.’  
One of the voices interrupted his thoughts.   
‘Predators keep and protect what belongs to them.’   
Came another.  
Now the voices in his head were in disagreement. Wonderful.

She had the AUDACITY to show up that evening. Walking into his cell as if she had a right and with Breslin behind her like the coward he was. He noticed how Breslin looked quickly at his bed and then at Michael. He wants to see if I know what’s there. Michael thought though he remained expressionless. 

They smelled of the outside. Her face was pink from either late season sun or wind or perhaps both. He could not care less about Breslin. But she betrayed him. This could not and would not be tolerated. But how to do it?   
Without warning, for the second time, he punched Breslin. This time so hard he knocked him backwards and off his feet. Samantha looked horrified. Good! Breslin hurried to stand upright as quickly as he could. He didn’t think staying down was a smart idea.   
“You can stay with this fucking madman if you want. I am DONE!”   
Just then, the doors opened and guards ran in with their ever present and always ready tranquilizer guns.  
“What the hell are you waiting for? Shoot him!”  
Paul was practically screaming. Michael was looking at the guards and the door and calculating how long it would take to kill them and Breslin. He did not have to hardly lay a hand on Samantha. He could just push her out of his way. If she were smart, and he knew she was, she’d let him go. But no. Now was not the time. Not yet. Paul was bleeding from the side of his mouth. His face was swelling already.   
The guards didn’t fire because they were waiting for the doctor, his doctor to give her orders. Michael stood still, staring at her. But she was looking at Breslin’s jaw  
“I think he broke my jaw.”  
“No it’s not broken.”  
She knew Michael was watching her. She also knew the next move she made, the next words she uttered, held in balance the lives of these three men.   
“No.”  
She said looking directly into Michael’s eyes as she spoke.   
“Don’t fire.”  
The guards were surprised but orders were orders. Breslin was incredulous but his face hurt too much to speak. Oh, but he was going to enjoy injecting the saline into Myers' brain. He wondered if he could do it while he was still awake. So the bastard could actually feel his brain beginning to shrink. Samantha was still looking at Michael, who turned away and faced the wall, his hands clasped behind his back.   
“Let’s go.”   
She said wearily. Once they left the cell Michael went to his bed and sat down. If Breslin were smart, and he wasn’t, he would get as far away from Smith’s Grove as possible. Because the next time Michael laid hands on him, it would be the end of Paul Breslin. But. Not tonight… Soon. Soon.

He didn’t acknowledge her presence in his cell for days. Even though there were times he desperately wanted to. But he knew how much getting even the slightest response from him was a great victory for her, so he denied her. But one day he simply could not ignore her. Because she took him completely by surprise.

She walked into his cell carrying a large, insulated bag. She was smiling.  
“Good morning Michael. Do you know what today is?”  
Why should he care? Halloween was still just under two weeks away.  
“It’s October 19th, Happy Birthday.”  
His head snapped up. He narrowed his eyes but did nothing else. What game was she playing now?   
“I thought you might like to go Outside. I know they generally keep you confined and under heavy guard this time of year, but I don’t think you are a threat today. Besides, I brought lunch and ice cream.”

Every voice in his head went silent. He had no thoughts other than that if he were like everyone else, he’d congratulate her. She had managed to both surprise and confuse him so completely. He just …. he did not know what. She was nothing at all like her father. He was typical. Like all the other doctors and experts. But she kept him guessing. He blinked to try to come back to himself but it didn’t work. His Birthday? Ok this was a game he HAD to play along with.  
He stepped forward and extended his hands before him just a bit so the guards could shackle him but she shook her head.   
“I don’t think we need to be bothered with those today.”  
She wasn’t going to have him shackled.  
He blinked then blinked again. He could not work this through in his mind. And so, six foot, three inch tall Micheal Myers. Who weighed in at about 240 pounds of solid muscle, followed his doctor as if he were a meek little kitten. Simply because he did not know what else to do.

The guards and she walked him out of the cell and down the hall to the courtyard. They sat on a bench with him in the sun as usual. He ate his sandwich and drank his soda warily. Every so often he would look to one side or the other or behind him, as if he were waiting for something to attack. He drained the plastic soda bottle and looked at it with intensity. He could use this as a weapon. Shove it so far down someone’s throat it would completely block their airway, perhaps slice through the membrane and cause a hemorrhage. Ahh… that was more like it! His wits were returning to him, the feeling of weakness and unease passing. He must have been staring at the bottle for a while because Samantha was watching him.  
“I don’t know why you are so fascinated with that bottle, but I imagine it can’t be good.”  
She said. He almost laughed. Almost. At least he thought he did, he wasn’t sure if he remembered how to. 

She gave him ice cream, which was another new approach. Another aspect of a former life that no longer existed. But he ate it because he ate anything edible. It was a rule of survival. Eat when you can. Drink when you can. Sleep when you can. These luxuries were never guaranteed when he was doing his work. He preferred candy.   
She had cupcakes too and she had chocolate chip cookies. Those left him dumbstruck again.  
“My father mentioned how much you loved chocolate chip cookies as a child. You asked for them everyday.”  
Yes he had. And in the beginning, they gave them to him. And then they stopped. That insignificant fact was lost and no one had brought him chocolate chip cookies again…until today. She had a dozen. He took them all and began wolfing them down greedily. The other inmates in the yard knew better than to even look longingly at them or cast jealous eyes at him. He was eating the last one when he paused, looked her over and decided she was forgiven. She’d set her focus back on him. Where it belonged.

Samantha and Paul called it quits officially October 20th. Hearing about the little birthday party she had with Myers was enough for him! Paul considered it a bit of a loss but not much. The important thing was she’d already signed permission for him to use her father’s notes. That’s all he ever really wanted. Anything else would have been a bonus. She was not a beauty but she was smart and pretty damn good in bed. The less attractive girls always were. Ahh well, soon his plan would come to Fruition. Michael Myers would be dead or at least brain dead and Breslin would be rich and famous. His face still ached, it had turned all sorts of greens and blues. It was still discolored. He could not wait to give that bastard what he deserved.

Breslin and Loomis still had to see each other and that was awkward for both. The second time after the break up, it escalated into a fight in her office. Paul brought up the idea that she either had a thing for Michael or he had one for her or maybe it was a bit of both. The fact that she took Myer’s side over his was insurmountable for him. She retaliated by telling him the idea was ridiculous, he was ridiculous and it was better they learned now that they weren’t on the same page professionally or personally. Paul said he thought it best if he remained on the case strictly as a consultant and researcher and had no further sessions with Myers and Samatha agreed. She would be his main clinical physician and he would be counsel. They agreed to part as friendly acquaintances. And that was the end of that.

October 24th exactly one week before Halloween. Michael was sitting on his bed not moving. He forced himself to eat. The voices were screaming non stop and his head felt as if it would explode. He was leaning back against the wall with his eyes closed when Samantha came into his cell for their session. He wasn’t in the mood. He sprang to his feet and stalked across the room and stood with his back to her. She spoke cheerfully, as she always did but he couldn’t stand it. The things under the padding were calling him. The voices were making demands. He spun around and she got the message. She bid him good day and exited quickly. Once she was gone he went back to his bed. He felt as if every single nerve in his body was on fire. Every place a bullet had hit him ached. His burn scars itched maddeningly. He had the mask and jumpsuit he just needed shoes and in a few more days….just a few more days….

The next day the orderly came in to clean his room. Michael was sitting on his chair watching the man as he moved about. He was chattering about things Michael didn’t care about. Then something piqued his interest.  
“Man, I don’t know if that lady doctor has a thing for you or what but she is in there fighting with the head of this place and that visiting doc. She is going to the mat for you. And it ain’t looking good for you. It’s two against one in there but she is holding her own and defending you. I’m telling you; you better do right by her if the time ever comes. Other than yours truly, she’s probably your only friend in this world. Now, I can make sure your room is clean and fresh but that’s the limit of my power here. You can be sure, if you ever wanna leave, I’d hold the door open for you. $15.50 an hour and crappy benefits ain’t worth my life. But she’s got a say and she’s fighting for you. They wanna inject your brain or some crazy medical shit and she doesn't wanna let them. You. You’re a wolf and the wolf protects his own. I know you can hear me Michael and I’m not trying to tell you what to do. Don’t get me wrong, but you should do right by her.”  
He finished his work in the room and he left. 

October 29th was the day that changed everything for Samantha. And to think it started out like any other ordinary day except for the fact that she got up earlier than usual. She showered, brushed her teeth, had breakfast and went to work. So did Doctors Breslin and Meeks. They all arrived at Smith’s Grove within an hour of each other. They all had plans for how the day would likely go. None of those plans would pan out. 

Michael had plans of his own as to how the day would go. And he knew he’d probably get his way. He almost always did. Today was the day Paul Breslin would die. He wasn’t sure quite how it would happen yet or exactly when. But today was the day because it was his wish. As it turned out, he didn’t have to wait all that long. Right Now, it was early. He could nap before breakfast.

“Good Morning Mr. Myers.”  
The voice woke him and it’s mocking, male tone set him on edge. He sat up, glaring.  
Breslin! Accompanied by a guard almost as tall and just as broad as Michael. The guard held the usual insurance policy in the form of a tranquilizer gun. That didn’t interest Michael. What interested Michael was the black work boots thrown at him. Breslin missed hitting him on purpose.   
“I brought you this Present. To go along with the others, I left for you under the padding of your bed. Happy belated birthday.”  
Michael just stood there looking at him with disinterest. He didn’t bother to look at the shoes. Inside… he was burning with rage. He was aching to beat Breslin to death with those shoes. He stood there, not moving.  
“Go ahead. Put them on. I know it’s not candy and cookies, but I thought you’d like them. Go on, I’ll wait”.   
Paul stopped speaking and after a moment Michael felt it was only right he comply after Breslin went through all this trouble. Once he had on the jumpsuit and shoes he stood back up, shoving the mask into the deep left hip pocket.   
“What? Don’t want to put on your mask? A few days too soon for that I suppose. But that won’t matter, they will find it on you.”   
‘Oh yes.’ thought Michael ‘they’ll find that and a little surprise.’

Ever since he was a boy Michael always had a great deal of leeway from the staff of Smith’s Grove. Doctor Loomis had remarked on that several times. He had even let Michael know that he was aware of the special treatment Michael enjoyed. The staff would do almost anything to keep Michael complacent and he, in turn allowed most of them to live. 

Paul’s voice dripped with contempt.  
“You may be curious as to what I am up to. Well here it is. Today, you are finished. It’s the end of your reign of terror Myers. There’s enough Thorazine in that gun to take down a Bull Moose. And you are going to get shot up with it. Then you will be strapped down and wheeled into an operating room where I will perform not only a lobotomy, but I will inject saline into your brain. Part of it will atrophy, that means harden and shrink. It will destroy the neuro-receptors that control your arms and legs. If you survive, you do have a penchant for surviving, you will be all but brain dead and unable to move. You’ll be hooked up to a machine for the rest of your miserable existence, with a catheter crammed in you and wallowing in your own waste. Over time, the rest of your muscles will also atrophy. You will be weak as a lamb. Michael Myers, The Boogeyman, wasting away in his own shit, helpless as a newborn babe. It’s fucking priceless. A fitting end, really. A piece of shit, slowly rotting away in shit.”

So now he knew the whole plan this fool had in his head. The taunts were meaningless. They had no effect on Michael and didn’t increase his desire to take this idiot’s life. The only reason he was still allowed to breathe was so that Michael could find out what his plan was. Now he knew and it was time to revoke that privilege. He was about to spring forward when Breslin started speaking again. It was all Michael could do to restrain himself…but…he HAD to know the rest. Like a leopard waits in the tall grass for precisely the right moment, so did Michael…  
“And if you think Samantha Loomis will swoop in and save you, forget it. She’s been locked away safe and sound. Your little champion has been neutralized. Seems like she got called to a meeting in an old office and the door somehow got locked from the outside. If she manages to get free in time, it will not matter. Her signature was easy to copy. She signed off on the procedure, at least it looks like she has. You will remain infamous as the subject of a highly experimental treatment plan. One for the medical journals around the world. So, come at me. At least make the effort. If not, I’ll just say you did.”

Michael looked from the gun, to the guard and finally to Breslin. He didn’t need to move his head to do that and so, to the two men in the room, it seemed he wasn’t going to react at all.   
‘Arrogant bastard.’ Breslin thought to himself. 

Michael turned, as if to face the wall which Breslin took this as the right time to signal the guard to pull the trigger…and then the leopard sprang!

Everything escalated so quickly, the guard was dead and Breslin facing the last moments of his life before either knew what was happening! Michael had lunged at the guard, grabbing the gun and knocking Paul in the head with the butt. The guard tried to flee but Michael grabbed him by the head and with one swift motion, snapped his neck. He had the gun, which he threw behind him. Paul was just scrambling to his feet as Michael produced a scalpel, razor sharp, from his right hip pocket.  
“What? Where did you get that?”  
Paul asked stupidly, his voice wavering. Michael made a slow wide circle around, backing Paul away and putting himself between the exit and Breslin. Michael tossed the blade to the ground in front of Paul then took a step backwards away from him. Michael just stood there, hands at his sides, waiting. Just patiently waiting.

Paul knew he had to do something, so he tried for the blade. The moment he moved, he felt a hard kick to his face, shattering his nose. Pain gripped him as blood spurted everywhere. At that moment, when Michael grabbed for him he realized this was it. His life was over and he would die, like his father, at the hands of Micheal Myers. 

Michael dragged Paul to his feet by the front of his shirt, the fabric tearing as he did so. He looked into his prey’s eyes for what seemed eternity to Paul. ‘Loomis was wrong, his eyes aren’t black...they are a blazing, icy blue fire burning with hatred.’ Paul thought wildly, as his soon to be executioner dug long fingers into his chest. Gone was the usual blank stare Paul had seen during every session. Michael felt hatred towards him; it was deep rooted and there was rage there as well. The rage in those eyes was terrifying! Michael tore into the soft flesh, just below the sternum. He was moving his hand so slowly, all the while staring at Breslin with core deep loathing. The pain took Breslin’s breath away as Michael’s fingers dug through the layers of skin, up to almost his wrist. Paul was screaming but no one responded. No one came to his aid. He had confined the only one that might have dared interfere with Michael, and the only one Michael might have actually listened to, in a long-abandoned office in a rarely used section of the hospital.

Folks working at Smith’s Grove knew it was best to leave Michael alone and not get in his way. It was like when a herd of wildebeests finds themselves set upon by a lion. They scatter and watch as the unfortunate chosen one is taken down, they are jittery for a while and then they go back to their routine. For the majority of staff here, Michael was a vicious storm. The kind that made you find someplace safe to take cover and wait for it to pass. Once the damage was done and the storm passed, you picked up the pieces and went on with life.

Michael had grabbed hold of Paul’s Ribs and broke several off, one at a time, before dropping it and repeating the action. By the third rib, as Paul bled out, his mind flashed back to the day he’d cut away the padding of Michael’s bed. He’d used a scalpel. He must have somehow left it behind. Paul chuckled at the thought of his own stupidity. It was sickening as it mixed with the sound of him choking on his own blood. The last thoughts he had were, how Michael didn’t need that knife after all… how this really wasn’t all that painful anymore. ‘His eyes have turned almost black now.’ Paul made that mental note. He thought he heard someone say, “I win.”

But he’d never know for sure. The last thing he saw when Michael dropped Paul’s torn, dying body on the cell floor, was Michael picking up his car keys. They had fallen out of Paul’s pocket and Michael put them in his own.

Samantha was running down the hall and had made it to the cell just as he was exiting. She stood in front of him, just past the door to his cell. “Michael, please don’t do this. They have a plan to really hurt you this time and I don’t know if I can help you once you cross this line. Please go back to your cell and stay there. I’ll stay with you. Day and night and get you through this. It’s only a few days. Please Michael. You’ve made progress, don’t give up on yourself now, I haven’t! Please. It can be different. Let me help, Please….”

He blinked his eyes and looked down at his bloodied hands. She looked at them as well and tears filled her eyes. When he looked back at her she thought she saw a hint of an apology in his eyes. Perhaps sadness and regret there as well. As for Michael, he wished he could go into that cell with her and there would be nothing horrible in there. He’d lock the door and sit. She’d talk and he’d ignore her but the sound of her voice would soothe the ones in his head. Might even soothe the one that compels him to… And then that thought was gone, replaced by a venomous look of rage. And no voices in his head dared speak, save the one demanding he pull on that mask that will unleash the thing within him.

“What have you done?”  
She asked quietly. He stepped back, leaned in towards her slightly, almost as if he was daring her to look and she accepted his challenge. Moving slowly past him as his eyes followed her intently. She leaned forward to peer into the cell. When she did, he shoved her lightly, as any blow from him could be light. But it still sent her pitching forward, she fell on all fours and looked straight into the dead staring eyes of her former lover. She fought not to vomit as she saw the guards neck twisted unnaturally. And all the blood! She stood up and turned to see Michael pulling on his mask. He had bent forward just a bit and now, he was straightening his back as he pulled it on. In his right hand, he held a scalpel. His eyes seemed black as night. He stood at his full height and he seemed so much taller, wider and more terrible than he’d ever seemed to her before. Her voice was low. With fear filled wonder as she whispered  
“This is ‘The Shape’ my father spoke of.”  
He stood there staring at her. His fingers slowly clenching and relaxing over and over on the handle.   
“….and The Shape is deciding my fate right now….what is my fate… Michael?”  
She spoke his name in that soft and gentle tone that hit that part of him that clung to his last shred of humanity. Not even The Shape could completely dismiss that tone. That soulless, merciless creature that dwelled in his mind heard that tone and could not ignore it. It continued to rage, but it could not bring itself to hurt her. It tried and failed to compel the hand that held the weapon to strike against her.

He looked at her and for a moment, there seemed to be a brief flicker of recognition in his eyes before they turned blacker still. Like onyx, like black ice. So terribly…cold.

She dipped down and circled slightly as he turned to walk away so that she was still in front of him.

“Please Michael. Go back inside your cell.”  
Tears were flowing from her eyes. Tears of regret for the loss of Paul and that guard in there. Regret that she ever came here. Regret that Michael was, in many ways, a victim as much as those he’d taken and those he’d take. Regret for her father and the years lost between them because she never took the time to try to understand.

Once more, there seemed to be a slight waver in his resolve. With his left hand he reached out and touched her cheek. A tear glistened on his fingertip. He examined it only a moment before he curled his hand into a fist. As he glowered down at her, she realized there was nothing left of the man she’d worked with these last few months. His rage was on full display in his expression. Michael was gone somewhere. Locked away in a cell in his own mind. Imprisoned securely and only The Shape had the key now. The Shape had won. She saw it in his posture. In the way he now stared down at her. Raising the scalpel slightly, ready to strike. A warning. A final warning that this reprieve was all she’d get from him and it would not last long.

“Very well, you go to Haddonfield.”  
She stepped out of his way.  
He took a step forward.  
“I will follow you there.”  
He stopped and turned around. He tilted his head to one side slightly then turned around again and proceeded to walk out. Now that he was gone, she could give in to her emotions. She slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor shaking all over. Then she got to her feet and headed for the exit to her car. She had a job to do. She supposed her life was always meant to be like this.

Fate can not be avoided. Fate is immovable.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading ! Please rate and leave feedback!
> 
> Michael Myers isn’t mine . This wonderful character and the world he lives in was created by Debra Hill and John Carpenter.  
> Blumhouse owns him now and they are doing a great Job!
> 
> Samantha Loomis is my creation. Please ask if you wish to use her.


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